No Safe Haven
by RHr Fan
Summary: For 4 months, Harry, Ron, and Hermione have spent their sixth year at Hogwarts with no threats from Voldemort. But that soon changes when they visit Hermione's house for the winter holidays. Lots of RHr and some HG. Sequel to Summer of the War. Final cha
1. Wanderings

A/n: Here's the sequel! I loved the feedback I got on Summer of the War and was extremely eager to write this story. It starts off a week before the winter holidays at Hogwarts. I hope everyone likes this as much as its first part. Read, enjoy, and review!

Disclaimer: I am still no closer to owning this franchise or the Simpsons franchise, sadly.

NO SAFE HAVEN 

**Chapter 1: Wanderings**

It was curious to find Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry silent and calm. But this December night it was. Lights flickered in the empty halls, casting eerie glows on the rusty suits of armor. Night was dark outside the windows of the school, and the veiled stars provided little light. Cold wind swept in from any cracks in the walls, making the stone walls more frigid than ever. Teachers slept soundly. Nothing stirred in the castle. Common rooms were empty, all except one: the Gryffindor common room.

Every night, it was the same at this hour. The ginger cat sneaked around the room, rubbing his back against the comfortable armchairs close to the fire, passing particularly often by the large red one, where his owner usually sat reading. The feline often cast ominous, defiant looks to the armchair across his owner's, resentful of the young man who usually occupied the chair.

Tonight was different, simply because the people in the armchairs were sound asleep, which was unusual for them to do. The ginger cat paced the room nonetheless, his ears as pricked as his owner's usually were. Tonight he watched her with the book in her lap, deeply asleep, wondering when she or her redheaded "friend" would wake up and decide their prefect duties were done for the evening.

Although, most of the time, the clever creature doubted the two stayed up because of prefect duties. Crookshanks knew when two humans enjoyed each others' company, and it was more than evident that these two were spending as much time together as possible.

He turned when he heard his owner stir. Hermione opened her eyes and brushed her hair away from her face. Crookshanks watched her eyes fall over the fire, the flames reflected perfectly in her large, brown eyes. She seemed entranced, not blinking once, until he saw her eyes water and she looked away. She touched the book in her lap, tracing the letters of its title. The small smile on her lips told him it was _Hogwarts, A History_, and he knew she would look up at Ron before she did.

The young man who had once been his rival had his head leaned back against his armchair. His longish red hair was tousled, and his freckles were vivid in the glow of the fire. Crookshanks gave an exasperated purr when he realized Hermione was staring at Ron, yet again. There had been a time when Crookshanks had attained all her time and attention. He'd been amongst cuddles and sappy, disgusting cooing, always finding a sleeping place in her arms and her hand stroking the fur on his back. Now, her hand most customarily held her wand or—to Crookshanks' revulsion—Ron's hand.

Hermione shook her head, aware that Crookshanks was aware that she was aware of Ron's presence. She gave the cat a loving smile and he responded with a satisfied purr and rub against her legs. She chuckled and picked him up, setting him on her warm lap, her book put away on the arm of the chair. She caressed his ginger fur and Crookshanks felt very much at home. At times like these, he realized he didn't really hate the sleeping Weasley. No, on the contrary, they both were very fond of one very special person. Maybe that was the source of all their rivalry. Nevertheless, they had something in common, and Crookshanks knew that if he couldn't protect her, Ron would.

Hermione planted a kiss on his furry head and said, "All right, Crookshanks, I need to wake Ron now." With that, she set him on the floor and stood up. She stretched, yawned, and patted her bushy hair down before walking over to Ron, placing a hand on his shoulder, and shaking him gently.

"Ron," she called softly. If Crookshanks could have laughed, he would have. Ron was as asleep as the cat usually was after eating. Spending more time with the kid—who really wasn't so much of a kid anymore—was making Crookshanks realize how much alike they were. No wonder Hermione liked him so much.

When Ron didn't wake, she leaned down and whispered his name close to his ear. Crookshanks smirked as much as his cat lips could let him. Hermione wasn't the cleverest witch in the school for nothing. She knew that Ron would immediately wake up if he felt her breath on the skin of his neck. He sat down and watched the scene unfold.

Ron's blue eyes snapped open and he moved his head slightly when he realized Hermione was so close to him. He recovered quickly. "What the hell? What time is it?" She laughed and moved away.

"Dunno. I don't think it's much later than usual. I wonder why we fell asleep."

Ron shrugged. "We've been doing a lot this year. Prefect duties have gotten pretty demanding." A smile tugged at his lips.

Hermione tried to look confused but failed miserably. "Yes...shame," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She yawned before she could smile. When she didn't bother to cover her mouth, Ron muttered, "Now, really, Hermione, your manners are atrocious."

She glared at him for a moment before making up her mind and raising up one finger. Ron laughed and said, "Whoa, strange of you to do that." There was some odd sort of pride in his voice.

Hermione shrugged and said, "Yes, well, I'm tired." At that thought, she looked disappointed. "Tired...I suppose we're done with our duties for tonight, huh?" Ron looked like he very much disagreed, but Hermione kept talking before he could protest. "If there's nothing left for us to do, I'll just head up to bed." She turned and started to walk away. Crookshanks knew she would say something sooner or later that would make Ron suggest another "duty" that had been left unattended. Running up to catch up with her, the cat saw her roll her eyes slightly and say, "Nice night, this one."

Ron glanced at Crookshanks, who put his tail in the air and moved it towards Hermione. Ron noticed and stood up. "Well..." Hermione turned around and looked at him expectantly with raised eyebrows. He stroked the back of his neck casually and said, "We could patrol the hallways...you know, just to make sure nobody's up and about at this time—"

"Like we used to do?" Hermione smiled and nodded. "Yes, we could do that." She tucked her hair behind her ears. "When did we stop walking around the school at night, risking being caught by Filch?"

"When only Harry could fit under there...with me, your feet were in plain view, and I did not enjoy half crouching all the time." Ron's small smile faded. "I guess a lot has changed since then. I didn't really notice it."

Hermione was staring at him intently, and not the kind of stare she watched him with at the times when it was most evident that she cared very much about him. Ron knew she was staring and so he looked at the floor. Crookshanks couldn't understand what Hermione was seeing, but he knew it was something serious stirring inside Ron, and he wondered if it had anything to do with the summer they had just spent at the Burrow.

Crookshanks was almost sure she would tell him they could patrol the halls some other time, but all of a sudden, she blinked and said, "C'mon, Ron. If we want to do any hall-patrolling, we should do it before it gets too late." He nodded. He touched the prefect badge on his chest and walked to the portrait hole. He held it open for his best friend and when she had climbed through, he followed.

Many didn't see it, but the two were just as important as Harry Potter. They were a balanced trio, creating a neutrality that gave them more power than they had realized they had. Each one possessed characteristics that the other two didn't, and sometimes they discovered that some of their potential overlapped. But they still had no idea how important that was.

Crookshanks watched the fire. Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley were heading for the time of their young lives where their strength, intelligence, and loyalty would be tested; a time of fear, a fraction of which they'd already experienced; a time of uncertainty, such that they knew not yet; and a time of sacrifice, which two of them had already known, but all were unaware of the sacrifice yet to come.

Crookshanks watched the fire. He half expected to see the black dog's human form appear in the embers. But he knew the man wouldn't come. Through the window, Crookshanks saw a glint of red in the sky. He hoped that the not so young kids would realize what important powers they possessed, and that no matter how bright Mars became, they would prevent from more faces like Sirius' from being erased forever.

Somewhere, someone else in the castle was awake.

**END POV**

He drew the cloak close around his neck, tying it securely. It was a cold night, colder than usual, and the castle was ominously dark. Not having been to the common room since before dinner, he still had his bag with him, heavy with the books of the afternoon lessons. Nevertheless, he threw it up on his shoulder, drew his slender wand, and began to walk, careful to avoid making noise that would echo in the vast halls.

His eyes darted this way and that. If he were to be caught, he would be given detention for walking around the school after hours. His bag was much too heavy, and it was cutting into his shoulder. Drawing in sharp breaths, he flung himself behind a stone pillar and let the bag fall to the floor. Immediately, he regretted it, for the books inside it hit the floor with a loud thud that echoed around him. He winced and waited, holding his breath to see if anyone would come and find him. His ears were ready to hear any mew from the wretched Mrs. Norris, but he heard nothing. Sighing, he said a silent thank you and sat down beside his bag.

He still had his wand in his hand. It was a beautiful one, a sharp relief from his feeble old one. This one, of deep mahogany, had a single unicorn hair as its core, and it was a good 13 inches long. He was proud of it, although it had been a shock losing his other one; it held some sentimental value to him. He still had the shards of it hidden in his trunks upstairs. But nevermind his old wand, he had a new one, and it was much more powerful. He was more powerful.

That was the reason why he'd asked Professor Sprout for a note admitting him the search of a book in the Restricted Section. She had always had a soft spot for him, since his strength was Herbology, and when he'd discussed his interest in a magical plant whose information he could only find in the Restricted Section, she had been glad to sign the slip giving him access to the books of the Restricted Section. Madam Pince had been most reluctant to allow him (she was probably surprised that he of all people wanted to explore the Restricted Section) to find his book, but he had the signed paper, and she could not deter his desire to find the plant.

Or so she thought. He really wasn't looking for such a plant. His real interest lay in finding a spell, one he had found most curious but intensely terrifying. He was not keen to learn it so as to use it to hurt others; he merely was more wary of what was to come, not only for all of the wizarding world, but for him as well, after June. He needed to know how to protect himself and prove to everyone that he did not need assistance in everything, that he was not completely useless.

And so he had found it. Excited, he hadn't bothered to read everything about it, but it was the exact spell he had seen, the one he had been searching so relentlessly for. He'd found it, and so he checked out the book (Madam Pince had been rather unnerved when she saw the book), and now he carried it around, awaiting the nights when he would sneak off to the Room of Requirement to practice.

Tonight was just another one of them. He just had to rest a bit before proceeding. He was growing so talented at performing the spell that, tonight, he wanted no interruptions.

**END POV**

It was odd how cold it was. Through his sweater and thick robes, Ron shivered. There was something unnerving about nights as frigid and gloomy as this, a night such that no flame could annihilate the shadows or bestow heat upon an icy body. After mentioning change, Hermione had become as cold as this night.

They walked in silence and Ron mentally cursed himself. The purpose of this walk was to spend time with her, to talk to her, to step ever so closer to her. After Bill's death, she had grown distant, and the hard-earned comfort they had had around one another had been shattered, and he'd been left with the debris of it, in hopes of restoring it. That was his goal for the year. So far, it had been working well. But sometimes he mentioned something that reminded her of how he had changed and she would step away and put a solid barrier between them.

He couldn't quite understand why she hated so much the idea that he had grown up. It was almost as if she were afraid that he would grow up and change entirely. Maybe she thought he would stop caring about her. Maybe she feared a separation, a rift in their friendship, a break in the bond that she and him and Harry shared, a bond that seemed for like a force than anything because it was stronger than anything he could imagine. Maybe she wanted things to stay the way they were because it was the way she was used to and knew best.

Or, come to think of it, maybe that's what he himself wanted.

But he really didn't want to resist change. He'd found it purifying, in ways. He was learning from the past and readying himself for the future. He was learning that he could prepare, but he would never be fully prepared. He was finding out that sometimes the unexpected has to happen, or sacrifices have to be made, in order for the outcome to be as glorious as one wants it to be.

It had been odd returning to Hogwarts and riding the carriages. The thestrals were still invisible. But to him, it hadn't felt like they were. It was almost as if he could see them, with the bitter shadow of Death hanging heavily over him, penetrating any weak point in his soul. In ways, he'd seen much more than the thestrals, even though he hadn't actually witnessed Death. And so he hoped he'd never really see Death, for if merely experiencing it was too terrible for words, how would it feel to also see it? No, Bill's death had not provided that material change, that sudden curse of seeing the thestrals, but it had given so much.

Too bad it had also taken so much.

"Ron?" He looked up to see Hermione staring at him, her sleepy eyes suddenly wide. "You all right?"

He nodded. "Except I wish I hadn't upset you."

Hermione stopped. She bit her lip and turned to the window, leaning on the sill and staring at the black sky. "You didn't upset me."

"Yes I did. Hermione, I have been your best friend for five years, do you really expect me to ignore that fact that you hate when I mention change? It upsets you."

"Ron, change doesn't upset me—"

"No, I think it's the fact that I changed."

To that she did not respond. Ron thought it might have something to do with the fact that she didn't know how to, and he started to feel guilty for putting her on the spot. She turned away from him, arms crossed over her chest, and she did not look angry; she just looked pensive. Ron lifted his hand with the intention of putting it on her shoulder, but he started and dropped his hand when she spoke.

"Look, Ron." Then she was quiet again. Confused, he followed her gaze out of the castle window, but he didn't see anything in particular. His attention shifted back to her, however, when she continued. "It's not that I'm upset. It's just...a bit frustrating." Her eyes flickered over to him, too quick for him to wipe the look of bewilderment off his face. She shook her head and said, "I usually know how to work things out."

"Tell me about it."

"Ron, don't make this difficult."

"I'm not doing anything!"

"Just shut up."

"Okay."

He thought he saw the sides of her mouth twitch, but when he looked again, she looked solemn once more, and he thought perhaps it had been a trick of shadows.

"Harry was so different after fourth year. Something happened in the summer that turned him into a bad-tempered..." She seemed to be at a loss for the right word.

"Git?" Ron offered seriously.

"Ron!" She paused for a moment, then said, "Well, yes, perhaps that's the best word to use. Anyway...I didn't know what to do about it, to make him stop acting that way."

"There was nothing anyone could do."

"I know. I still tried, though."

They were silent for a moment, only exchanging quick glances once. Ron thought she might be done and only wanted to stand around with him for a bit. He was just thinking about maybe edging closer to her as nonchalantly as possible when she said something else. Mentally cursing the gods, he listened to what she had to say.

"Now you're doing it too. You're being...different."

"Like Harry?"

"Yes, but—"

"You've always called me a git," he said, rather reproachfully. "So you can't be angry with me for the same reasons that you were angry with Harry."

"I don't always call you a git," she said, and he almost laughed at how easy it had become to lead her off the subject. He didn't though, as she was obviously keen on talking some more. "And of course I'm not angry with you like I was with Harry. I'm not angry with you at all."

"What is it, then?"

She glared at him. "Well, I might be able to discuss it with you if you didn't keep interrupting."

He cocked his head to the right thoughtfully. "But...if I didn't interrupt, then you'd just be talking and I'd just be listening. That's not discussing."

"Ron!" He knew she hated the fact that he was right. She looked like she wanted to get something out, though, so he nodded and shut up. She seemed satisfied as she said, "It's just that I don't want you to be different."

He raised an eyebrow. "You've always told me you want me to change."

"It's a manner of speaking, Ron, I never really meant for you to change."

"Oh."

"Yes." She blinked very rapidly for a moment, which would have been amusing to him if he hadn't been so focused on what she was saying. "I don't like when things change," she said again, and this time, she was on the verge of whispering. "I can't adjust to change because I always try to make things return to the way they were before and—"

"Why, though?" He hadn't meant to interrupt, but he was curious.

"Why?" She looked puzzled, and he realized she probably didn't know why herself. "Well...because it's what I'm used to."

"But change can be good, can't it? I mean...we wouldn't be friends if things hadn't changed, if we had decided to let that troll have a go at you."

"Oh, thanks, Ronald, that's very nice of you," she retorted somewhat scathingly.

"I'm serious!" he said, indignant that she'd bashed his opinion. "Besides...sometimes, when stuff changes, it makes people...happier, than they were before." He swallowed an odd lump that had formed in his throat and tried not to think about moving closer to her.

She looked at him for a moment, and he worked hard to look completely devoid of the thoughts he was really having. He was also hoping she wouldn't start arguing with him. But she didn't. All of a sudden, she just nodded and said, "Yes...I suppose you're right." She turned her head and gave him a small smile.

He couldn't help return it with his own lopsided grin. Ever since their sixth year had started, he'd loved spending time with Hermione, even if it was for something like prefect duties. Right now, he couldn't help feeling an intense gratitude towards Dumbledore for making him prefect.

Something in the sky drew his attention away from Hermione, however. There was a tiny speck of red amidst all the black. A tiny, glimmering dot far above the trees of the Forbidden Forest. He squinted to make sure he was seeing it right. He was. He knew Hermione was staring at him but he was somehow mesmerized by the planet he was looking at. "Mars is bright tonight."

Next to him, Hermione shuddered. He tore his eyes away from Mars and glanced at her. She had an uneasy look on her face, and she was shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Was it something he'd said? "You all right?" he asked, raising an eyebrow slightly.

"Fine," she muttered, tucking a random strand of hair behind her ear. It slipped back out but she ignored it. "It's just...unsettling to hear you say that."

"What?"

She looked a little pale, but he thought it might have something to do with the moonlight. "That... 'Mars is bright tonight.' It's just something that one of the centaurs said that night in first year, when Harry and I had to go into the Forbidden Forest for detention with Hagrid and Neville."

Ron was confused once more. He didn't understand why it caused her discomfort. "Er...so?"

Unlike he'd thought, she didn't look annoyed. She simply shrugged and said, "It was kind of a terrifying night. That was the first time I realized Harry could die."

Ron's arm slipped off the windowsill, where he had been resting it. He never liked hearing the words "Harry" and "die" in the same sentence. He didn't let Hermione know that, though, and instead said, "Because...because Voldemort tried to attack him that night?" She merely nodded and then said nothing more.

He was going to ask her if she wanted to talk about it when she said, "You know, then there's that. It hasn't changed in the least bit. Harry's still in danger, Voldemort is still trying to kill him...and now that stupid planet is shining all the time. The only difference is, instead of sending the warning of upcoming war, it's announcing that war has already come."

Ron felt suddenly nauseous. They never talked about the war. They never mentioned the fact that the Order was busier than ever trying to keep track of anything the Death Eaters did, and they were still ready, at any moment, to come to Harry's rescue—their rescue. He glanced back out at the planet and felt himself shuddering too. It was terrible to think that one of these days they could all make one error and then Harry would be gone.

"Harry...Harry's with us," Ron said uncertainly. "We won't let anything happen to him." He hated how that sounded; like he was trying in vain to convince himself.

"That's what I try to think every single day," she said darkly.

He closed his eyes for a moment, then said, "Does it work?"

She was silent for a few seconds. Then... "Sometimes."

They were just past the Room of Requirement. Ron could tell Hermione was tired and if they were caught by Filch sitting and talking, prefect duties would not be excuse enough to keep him from landing them in detention. Ron was about to tell Hermione that they should make their way back when he heard a noise from behind him. Quickly, he put a finger to his lips, then turned, wand at the ready. He heard a loud thud.

There was a stone pillar in front of him, and he was almost sure the noise had come from behind it. He stepped slowly towards it, his eyes wide, trying to see through the darkness. Then, out of nowhere, a rather familiar voice yelled, "_Diffindo!_" and he felt a slash against his cheek, the force of the spell throwing him backwards hard against the stone floor, and he blacked out.

**END POV**

He was too intent on reaching the next pillar without being seen or heard that he didn't notice the two figures standing together by the window, whispering so no one would hear them. He made use of their figures blocking the moonlight coming in from the window and quickly ran to the stone pillar just a few feet away from the Room of Requirement. There, he waited, just to make sure no one was watching when he raced to the Room.

But someone was watching.

A tall silhouette was approaching him. He had made too much noise crossing from the last pillar. Cursing under his breath, he dropped his bag, not caring about the noise it made. He reached for his wand and pointed it out towards the figure walking slowly towards him. He yelled the first spell that came into his head.

"_Diffindo!_"

He heard the person cry out in pain, and he knew immediately that it was not Filch. It had sounded like a student, about his age. Angry with himself, he began to stand and get ready to aid the person he had just hurt when he heard another person muttering, "_Ennervate_." The first person had obviously awoken, because they were speaking in whispers.

He was about to hit them with a pair of Stunning Spells, but they were too quick.

**END POV**

"Ron!" Hermione ran to where he had fallen. She saw a gash in his cheek, blood beginning to drip out of it. She bit her lip and tried to shake him, to see if he would wake, but he had apparently been knocked out badly when he had hit the hard floor. Before she could panic, she took out her wand, pointed it at Ron, and said, "_Ennervate_." He opened his eyes weakly. "Who the hell...?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. Are you all right? That's a nasty spell, he obviously—"

"Hermione, don't be stupid, he could try to attack you with your back turned." Ron pulled out his wand, and Hermione did the same. She pointed it to the shadow behind the pillar and yelled, "_Stupefy!_" at the same time that Ron bellowed, "_Locomotor mortis!_"

The assaulter gave a short, panicked scream, before he fell with a dull thud. Hermione sighed and turned back to Ron. "Thanks."

Ron sat up and wiped the blood from the cut on his cheek. "No problem. Let's check up on this jackass."

Hermione glared at him for his language but stood up nevertheless and he was right behind her. Together, they made their way to the pillar. Hermione's hand was still clutched tightly around her wand, ready to defend her self from any attacks.

Ron slipped his hand into hers, instinctively. His palm was sweaty. She glanced over at him and saw that he was wincing slightly from the cut on his cheek. It wasn't bleeding as much, but tiny droplets of blood were dripping slowly from it nonetheless. Not a deep cut, but whoever had used the spell knew how to use it effectively.

And she soon found out who it was.

Neville was lying on the stone floor in the shadow of the pillar, his legs locked together and his eyes closed. Hermione's jaw dropped and she heard Ron mutter, "Huh?" She let go of his hand and knelt down in front of Neville. She said, "_Ennervate!_" once more, and he awoke with a start.

When he saw who was crouching next to him, Neville let out a yelp of surprise. "Hermione! And Ron! What happened?" Then he noticed the scar on Ron's puzzled face. He shut his eyes and said, "Ah...I'm sorry, Ron. I thought you were Filch and I didn't want to get caught—"

"_Diffindo_, Neville! That would have gotten you in more trouble than being caught at this time of night by Filch," Hermione said sternly, and she heard Ron give a very soft snort—she knew he thought she sounded like McGonagall. She rolled her eyes.

"I know, but it was the first spell that came into my mind!"

"Damn, Neville, thank Merlin you weren't thinking of Unforgivable curses," Ron said sarcastically. This obviously did not comfort Neville because the color that had slowly been returning to his cheeks was drained again.

Hermione gave Ron a deadly look and turned back to Neville. She paused and said, "That was some good bit of magic. Not only did it cut Ron's cheek but it also threw him down." She gave him a curious glare and said, "Neville, what were you up to? And why risk detention?"

"You're not gonna give me detention, are you? Gran would be in a right state if she heard I got detention." Neville gave her a pleading look.

She shook her head. "No, we won't give you detention, on one condition: tell us what you were doing."

Neville sighed. "Not here. It's a long story."

"Then in the common room. We were heading up there anyway. Come on."

Neville nodded and muttered, "_Finite Incantatem!_" With a groan, he rubbed his legs and stood up. Hermione was watching him with intrigue written all over her face.

With that, she, Ron, and Neville made their way to the Gryffindor common room, Ron with his arm protectively on her back.

A/n: Well, what do you think of this first chapter? I'm planning to have the next chapter at Hogwarts but the rest at Hermione's house. This shall be fun. =)


	2. Memories and Musings

A/n: I wasn't exactly overjoyed by the feedback I got on the last chapter, but it's all right, it's a new story, and it'll take some time for it to settle in. I hope. This chapter is pretty straightforward, some interesting new stuff going on, and a bit of the nice R/Hr fluff we all love. It's actually scary, how dark it's turning out to be. But then, we must not think too much on that...unless it's a plot point...you never know...All right, I'm wasting your time, just read.

Disclaimer: Don't own this...if I did, I might abuse my right to love Ron...which I already do so ::shrugs:::

**NO SAFE HAVEN**

**Chapter 2: Memories and Musings**

The door of the portrait hole slammed shut. Hermione had no idea what time it was, but she knew it was extremely late, judging by the tiny house-elf that was putting out the fire, leaving the common room feeling more frigid than ever.

Ron looked at the house-elf in disappointment. "Hey, mate, we were going to need that fire. You mind, er, rekindling it for us?"

"Ron!" Hermione glared at him sharply. She marched over to the house-elf and said, "It's all right, you don't need to listen to narrow-minded Gryffindors who have no interest in others' well being. You can leave the fire as it is. If we rekindle it, I'll put it out." She glanced over her shoulder and shot Ron another nasty glare, which he responded to with a scowl.

The house-elf watched Hermione with it's large brown eyes, which were filling up with tears. "Young mistress is kind. Old Frodil will do so for her if she wishes. Frodil does not mind working if it pleases masters."

Ron muttered under his breath as Hermione shook her head. "No, Frodil, you shouldn't have to be forced into slave labor. If you just asked for a bit of pay for your job, you could continue doing it and—"

"Hermione, it's late. If we're going to talk to Neville, we better do it now because I'm way too bloody tired to put up with spew work." Ron didn't care if he was being rude. He was being honest when he said he was weary; he could barely keep the sleep out of his eyes. "Thanks, Frodil, good-bye," he said. The little elf nodded and scurried out of the common room, the door shutting lightly behind him.

When Hermione straightened up, Ron knew he was in for a lecture. She pulled out her wand, pointed it at the fireplace, and brusquely muttered, "_Fembergo!_" A jolly fire sprung onto the smoking logs and the common room was filled with light once more. Ron was relieved that Hermione had chosen to avoid an argument, until she strode up to where he was standing. She must have stepped closer to him than she had intended because she immediately stepped back and the fire in her eyes extinguished somewhat.

"Ron, you are an inconsiderate prat. Do you have any idea how foul you were being? Honestly, the way you treated that elf...you shouldn't even be a part of S.P.E.W.!" Hermione said shrilly.

Her friend merely sneered at her. He opened his mouth to retort—he might as well tell her that if it were up to him he would have never been a part of her elf-liberation rant—but he quickly closed it. As much as he loved arguing with her, saying something of that manner would greatly hurt her—and he'd rather avoid succeeding in that area after so long. So instead he just waved a hand in her face and turned back to Neville.

"Okay. You mind telling us what the hell you were doing out there?" he said, the anger in his voice making it all too apparent that he was ticked off with Hermione.

She noticed, because she shoved him aside and said, "Neville, what were you up to? And why at night? You know how much Filch hates students who are out of bed so late at night. Why not wait until day to...do whatever you were doing?"

The round-faced boy sighed. "You don't get it, Hermione. I can't do it when everyone's watching. This is...different. And it's not like anyone thinks I'd be any good, anyway."

Hermione shook her head. "That's not true. Just—just start from the beginning."

Neville took a deep breath and said, "I'm sorry, Hermione. I can't."

The bushy-haired girl blinked. Ron gave a soft snort. He knew Hermione wouldn't be pleased to find herself in a situation of this sort—when someone actually refused to give her what she demanded. He was absolutely positive that she would not give in too easily. "Neville...you _told _me you would explain up here. Unless you want me to give you a detention, then I suggest you divulge the information."

Neville shook his head. "I told you, I can't. Look, the point is that this is important. Much too important to be telling anyone. And, don't get me wrong, Hermione, you're not just anyone, but I'd prefer to keep this to myself...even if detention is the consequence for it."

Hermione looked livid but she apparently was holding back; she wasn't about to be harsh with Neville. "You can trust us, you know that. We won't even tell Harry, if you don't want us to. Just tell us, Neville."

"He's not going to, Hermione, you might as well quit trying," Ron muttered.

She turned sharply. "I don't think I asked your opinion on this," she said hotly.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Get over the elf thing. Honestly, Hermione, your temper—"

"Save it, Ron, I don't care." She turned back to Neville, who was wincing slightly. She looked concerned for a moment, but quickly returned to the matter at hand. "Are you going to tell me or not?"

**pov shift**

Neville was quite still as he watched Hermione interrogating him. Within, he was quivering with fright. Hermione was very persuasive; if she didn't drop the subject, he would not be able to resist telling her.

And that was something he most certainly did not want to do.

Nobody knew. Nobody should know. Nobody cared, anyway. He owed nothing to anyone, so he need not tell them about his ambitious project. Nobody would force him to give in detail what he proposed to do, ever since he had found his own wand. And so nobody would know. That was the way it should and would stay.

His reasons couldn't be more evident. The only matter stopping them from unraveling his secret was that they were too blunt when it came to his emotions. They never really expected him to feel more than fear, at Snape and everything concerning school, or self-pity, for obvious reasons. If they'd ever noticed any deeper feelings residing within him, they had quickly forgotten.

But he couldn't forget.

They didn't know what it was like to grow up watching their parents sit alongside them, staring with a blank expression that all too clearly demonstrated no recognition of them whatsoever. No...both of the people—his friends, at times—standing before him had their parents by their side, and he suddenly felt the urge to shake them and make them promise to never take them for granted. They didn't understand that he'd never been tucked into bed by his own mother and never sat on the lap of his own father. They knew, of course, the current state of his parents. They had been shocked, and although they did not express it, they felt pity for him. He'd seen it written on their features that day at St. Mungo's. Hermione had seemed about to hug him and Ron had given him a rather brotherly look. But it was all pity, nevermind what form it was in, pure and utter pity.

The kind of pity that had followed him all his life.

He found his mind straying to the night when his parents had been tortured. He couldn't remember it; he was much too young to recall any of it. But at times, a door unlocked deep within his subconscious and he'd be hit with a scene of dark times. Sometimes he saw his mother, twitching and writhing on the floor, a jet of light flowing from her twisted body to the wand of a masked, cloaked figure. Who else should it be but Bellatrix Lestrange. Other times, he'd see his father in much the same manner he saw his mother, but he could hear his piercing screams of pain and distress, his anguish chilling him to the very bone.

But other times, like this night, he found himself dwelling upon another memory altogether, nothing he'd ever been told about. It was inexplicable, yet he knew the scene, although it felt like a book that has been pushed back, wedged in the unreachable regions of a bookshelf that was his mind. This memory was something new to him but that at the same time, he recalled it, almost vividly. He saw darkness, all above him, but also long pallid fingers gripping a rather long wand. He saw no more than that, but what he heard...it was awful. A shrieking cry, helpless and abandoned, that he couldn't help knowing was a baby's sobbing. And then there was the cruel, malicious laugh, high and cold, followed by words, a spell, uttered by a strange, snakelike voice that made his very soul quiver. Then he was hit by a blinding green light, and after that he could remember nothing.

However, it was when he evoked this memory that his head would hurt terribly and his very brain would feel numb. It only happened for a few seconds, but the fact that he could not understand it was what terrified him.

It had been occurring recently, more frequent than ever after the night in June that he had spent with the others at the Department of Mysteries, the night when he had been mesmerized by the figure emerging from the broken prophecy, the night when he had strained to hear what it was that the little glass sphere contained that was so important to the Death Eaters.

It was the night when he had seen Bellatrix Lestrange.

He knew who she was, and it was not because of the _Daily Prophet_. No, she was part of those haunting memories. Even worse, she was the cause of them all. Seeing her had stirred something inside him that he disliked, because he had a feeling it was hatred. Looking at the heavy-lidded eyes had given him determination to do what he had been doing.

He hated having to see his parents being tortured. Every time he looked at his mother's face at St. Mungo's, his mind flashed a picture of the night of her torture. He hated it. And he didn't want it to happen again. That was the only reason he was doing what he had set out to do this year. He was going to make sure that he knew how to defend the people he loved, whatever the cost. He would learn any self-defense necessary to prevent another heavy memory of Bellatrix wreaking havoc.

As Hermione and Ron bickered, he thought of that one peculiar memory, the one that showed not his parents nor Death Eaters, just the hand and the laugh of its owner. And as he did, the familiar pain shot through his head. He winced just as Hermione turned back to him. He hopped she wouldn't question his sudden pain. Luckily, she didn't, and instead asked, "Are you going to tell me or not?"

He gave her his most apologetic look and murmured, "No."

Hermione sighed heavily. Neville would not budge. He refused to tell her. It annoyed her, and so she couldn't help shooting a cold look at Ron. He seemed unaffected by it, but his blue eyes weren't in any way friendly. They were icy, like they became when she insulted him. Shaking thoughts of Ron out of her head, she looked at Neville once more and said, "Very well. I suppose there's nothing I can do to convince you to do otherwise."

"No, I can't tell anyone. I'm sorry," Neville said softly. He was being sincere. That was the only reason Hermione gave him a weak, sympathetic smile and nodded. He hesitated before asking, "Are you—are you going to give me a detention?"

Hermione knew she wouldn't, but she looked at Ron for advice nonetheless. His expression remained distant as he said, "Nah, it's all right, Neville. You should get some sleep. It's late. Besides, I really am tired." He yawned and gave Neville a reassuring smile. "Go on, mate. I'll be up in a bit." He glanced at Hermione briefly but did not hold her gaze.

Neville looked relieved. He gave both prefects a grateful nod and hurried up the stairs, to the Sixth Year Boy's dormitory.

Both aforementioned prefects had been still as their friend disappeared into his dorm. But the minute he closed the door, Ron turned away at the very instant Hermione said, "Ron..."

He thrust his hand into the pocket of his robes and pulled out his wand. Without glancing at Hermione, he pointed the wand at the fire and said, "_Nox._" The fire quickly grew smaller and finally died, casting them both in darkness.

Ron didn't move. Hermione wasn't even sure he was breathing until he said, "I don't understand you. What is the point of arguing with me so damn much?"

"Language, Ron," she murmured.

He turned around, glowering. "I'd rather not fight with you so much. I thought we'd gotten out of that stupid phase."

"Ron, we bicker! It's normal!"

He scowled, "Yeah, well, there's a difference between bickering and making me feel like crap. But I'm not sure you have sense of that difference." He swiftly took his prefect badge off his robes, so hastily that he managed to form a tear where the badge had been moments before. "Bloody hell..." he muttered, stuffing the little badge into his pocket.

Hermione bit her lip. As much as she hated to admit it, he was right. She couldn't quite understand why she had been so angry with him. So instead of answering him, she walked over to where he stood picking at the rip in his robes. She gently patted his hand away, pointed her wand at the slit and said, "_Reparo_." In the darkness, she saw the threads lace together and mend the tear. Ron had been watching her intently; she could sense his eyes on her. When she looked up, they were back to the regular, playful blue color that they normally were, and she gave him a small smile. "Thanks," he said.

She shrugged and took a step back. "Everything's easier with magic, isn't it?" _Nice small talk. _

He imitated her shrug. "I s'pose. I really couldn't tell you. I don't know what it's like without magic, really." He gave her a half-smile. "How'd you ever get along without the wizarding world? And Chocolate Frogs, for that matter..."

She laughed. "I managed. But I've been doing quite well here, don't you think?"

Fixing her with a mock inspecting stare, he said, "Well, if it hadn't been for the know-it-all-ism and the dirt comment on the Hogwarts Express, I suspect I would have been quite taken with you in first year. But, you messed up, Granger." He sniggered. "You've definitely improved since then."

"Yes, you just say that because you benefit from the annual candy for Christmas and your birthday that you receive from me. And besides," she put her hand to his nose and rubbed it, pretending to wipe something off it, "I don't think I'm all that different from the ten year old you met on the train."

Ron caught her hand and said, "Don't toy with me, you don't know the limits of my temper." They both laughed; they knew perfectly well how to push each other's buttons.

Hermione bit her lip as warmth spread where his fingers held her wrist. She reluctantly brought it down, removing Ron's fingers from her skin. She gave him a cheerful smile and said, "Quite a night, no? I'm pretty tired."

"Yeah," he said, absently adjusting the badge on her robes. "And I think Crookshanks is pretty pissed off at you for leaving him stuck in here." He nodded towards the ginger cat prowling under the window of the common room, his yellow eyes glowing in the darkness. Hermione chuckled and said, "Come here, Crookshanks." The cat gave her a rather resentful look and walked over to Ron, then started rubbing himself against his legs. Ron gave a surprised laugh and said, "Well, Miss Granger, I think your pet would rather hang out with the ever popular Weasley tonight."

Crookshanks leapt lightly onto Ron's arms when he bent down to pick him up. If he could have laughed, he would have. Hermione looked somewhere between indignant and surprised as Ron gave her a satisfied smirk that matched the cat's. Crookshanks watched his mistress roll her eyes.

"All right, Weasley, keep my cat for tonight. I shall take..." She seemed to be racking her brains for something to take from him. "...your badge for the time being, until you see fit to return my cat." She put her hand in the pocket of his robes and retrieved the badge. She grinned and patted Crookshanks on the head.

"Good-night, Hermy," Ron said, taunting her with the ridiculous nickname.

She rolled her eyes and said, "Good-night, Ronniekins." She turned to leave but Crookshanks anticipated she had one thing left to do. Sure enough, she presently returned to Ron, stood on tiptoe, and kissed his cheek innocently. Crookshanks caught the glimmer in her eye as Ron stood, looking surprised and delighted. Hermione didn't give him a chance to say anything before she walked away, up the stairs, and disappeared into her dorm.

Ron grinned at Crookshanks. "She's something else, Crookshanks. You and I both know her pretty well, don't we?" The kneazle gave him a confirming purr that he wished could convey how ridiculous he found the boy for talking to an animal that could not respond. Ron laughed and went up the stairs that Neville had ascended a few minutes before.

Crookshanks rested sleepily against Ron's chest. Yes, things had certainly changed. He was positive his master had not cared as much about the redhead when they first met.

**END POV**

"Checkmate." Ron flashed her a triumphant grin. His queen glanced at him before grabbing Hermione's king's arm and pulling him off the chessboard. Hermione watched her king with a slight scowl on her face.

"I never will understand your fondness for this particular game," she said, putting her hand over her mouth when she failed to stifle a yawn. "Besides, I only lost because I'm tired. And that's all thanks to you."

"No, you lost because your chess skills are rubbish and, aside from that, I am the one and only Master of Chess," Ron said, puffing out his chest in pride'

"Ron, you are such a nerd," Ginny said, hiding a smile. Harry grinned at her side. "She's right, you know." Ron opened his mouth, already picking out a choice of colorful words, but Hermione shot him a knowing glare and he closed it. He settled for chucking his knight at Ginny's head instead.

When it hit, Ginny rubbed the spot on her forehead and glared at Harry. "Thanks for trying to stop that from hitting me," she said bitterly. Ron and Hermione exchanged glances.

It wasn't much of a difference. Too subtle to notice, everyone at Hogwarts had stayed in belief that Harry and Ginny were having a budding romance. Hermione, however, noted otherwise. There was something slightly different about their relationship. During the summer, they had, of course, been very close. After Bill's death, Ginny had distanced herself from Harry slightly, and like Ron, had spent a large amount of time alone. But after about three weeks, she had returned to being inseparable from Harry. They'd proceeded to snog constantly in public, much to Ron's chagrin. He had not problem with Harry and Ginny's relationship, but it did sicken him to see them snogging. Lately, however, they'd avoid much contact in front of the rest of the students of the school. They resorted to short, simple kissing instead. Hermione didn't make much of it, and when she told Ron about it, he doubted that was relevant. Hermione suspected it might be true, as all couples went through troubled times. Not that she knew from experience or anything

She certainly hoped this was only a phase. Having Ginny was a blessing to Harry; it lifted some of the burdens that he'd been carrying. She didn't want that to be taken away. She knew that, if it should come to a break-up between the two, they would remain friends, but there was a difference.

When it came to Voldemort, they'd had no news recently. No attacks, no deaths, no mysterious occurrences. Nothing. It was almost intimidating, how little he was doing. But she knew he was biding his time. With Fudge being backed up by countless supporters, more than half the wizarding world believed that Voldemort (or, as he called him, "Lord Thingy") was "backing down," that he knew he couldn't stand a chance against the "strong forces of the Ministry of Magic." Hermione didn't like the way the people around her were being blinded. Fudge's power was increasing, and with it, the gullibility of the wizarding world. She knew that she shouldn't be surprised if the dementors left to guard Azkaban went astray soon.

Dumbledore was taking it the hardest. Hermione had noticed that the professor missed half the meals at the Great Hall. When he did attend, he seemed weary and lost in thought. Fudge's control over the wizarding world and the Ministry was affecting many people's views of Dumbledore. Now all of Slytherin house and their parents refused to accept Dumbledore, and some of the students in the other houses doubted their Headmaster as well. The situation was dire and bleak.

Some of the Ministry members that had been fired had been able to find jobs once more; Nymphadora Tonks was working as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts. But others, like Mr. Weasley, weren't so fortunate. Hermione was upset to see the Weasleys struggling, with only money sent by Fred and George and Charlie to cover their expenses. Aside from dealing with his son's death, Mr. Weasley was taking on a heavy load, and both he and his wife were slightly depressed. It broke Hermione's heart.

She snapped out of her reverie when Harry shoved Ginny gently and said, "Oh, please, Gin. I very much doubted Ron's aim, so I really didn't try 'cause I didn't think it would hit you." He gave her a smile and his green eyes twinkled.

"Right, Potter," Ginny said, rolling her eyes playfully.

"Resorting to surnames, now are we?" said a dreamy voice from behind Ron. Luna Lovegood gave them a huge smile, her eyes as wide as ever. She had gotten rid of the minute thestral earrings and made new ones. She had also, recently, taken to visiting the Gryffindor Common Room, as Ginny had decided to be "kind to her" and give her the password, seeing as no one in Luna's own house spoke to her.

Harry smiled. "So what of your new earrings, Lovegood?"

She chuckled touched the dangling piece of jewelry on her ear. "Well, I consider it my tribute to Hagrid's little brother." Hermione thought they were rather ugly; they looked like short, chubby, and extremely hairy house-elves. But she said nothing; Luna had her own unique style and, in some odd way, she was learning to respect that.

Harry laughed. "Interesting. Have you shown Hagrid yet?"

She nodded. "He was actually rather sad...I think he's not quite over his brother leaving." She shrugged. "But that's not the reason I came over here. I was just wondering...are we going to continue the DA meetings during the winter break? I was hoping we would."

Harry shook his head. "Sorry, Luna. Many people are going home for the holidays. Ron and I are going to spend the holiday at Hermione's house, so we wouldn't be able to do it anyway. But the minute we return, we'll start them up again."

The DA meetings had been as successful and popular as the previous year. Not much had changed; they were learning useful spells (mostly the ones Harry had learned for the third task in fourth year) and everyone was accomplishing what they wanted. Neville was one of the top students; his magic was strong, and he was learning spells with little trouble. Hermione had noticed that, while Harry and Cho were not on actual speaking terms, they were being civil enough, and she was glad. Harry did not need to deal with any more problems with the students; he'd had enough of it the year before.

She was happy that he and Ron had decided to accept the invitation to stay at her house for the holidays. She wanted to stay with them, but she desperately wanted to spend time with her parents. It felt very much as if she had been neglecting them and she wanted to make sure that they knew how much she appreciated them. Besides, it would be fun spending time at a different house. Not that the Burrow wasn't wonderful enough, but she would rather not disturb the family since everything seemed so tedious lately.

Luna looked slightly disappointed. But she quickly recovered her cheery smile and said, "That's all right. Thanks for telling me, though. I'll tell Daddy I can go home. I think he might let me write an actual article for the Quibbler—as a Christmas gift. Well, nice talking to you lads." She gave them a dreamy smile and walked off, the tiny Grawp earrings bouncing lightly.

Ron watched her go and muttered under his breath, "Still a nutter."

"That's a bit harsh, Ron," said Hermione.

Ron shrugged and said, "I don't suppose you're up for another game of chess?"

"No, I have work to do. We have a Charms essay."

"It's due in 2 weeks, Hermione," Harry pointed out, although he knew it made no difference to his female best friend.

She gave him a look. "Harry, you know me better than that. I'm going to get it done and then you two slobs will be whining about it the day before it's due." She flashed a triumphant smile. Then she hit her forehead and said, "Oh, no, I almost forgot! We have a prefect meeting in fifteen minutes! Come on, Ron, we're going to be late." Ron groaned. Hermione rolled her eyes. She stuck her hand in her pocket and retrieved a badge. She pinned it on Ron's robes and said, "I'm not kidding, Ron, come _on_."

"Harry, is there any way you can get me out of this?"

"Sorry, mate, I'm powerless against the might of the prefects. You'd better get used to it; you'll probably be Head Boy next year."

Ron's eyes widened. "Yeah. And you'll dump my sister for Luna Lovegood." He sniggered but stopped promptly when Ginny shot him a death glare. He was about to keep talking when Hermione grabbed his arm and said, "Ron, I'm not going to beg, let's _go_!"

With that, she dragged him out of his chair. He didn't try to make her loosen her grip, but just followed her out of the room. Harry and Ginny laughed. "You know, you guys only have a year and a half left here. I don't understand why they're wasting time in getting together," Ginny said.

Harry turned a pale shade of green. "They can get together if they want, but they better not snog in front of me." He shuddered. After that, though, a silence fell over them. Harry shifted his weight uncomfortably. Then he opted for the best thing that came to his mind. "Er...I'm going to take a leaf out of Hermione's book and start work on that Charms essay."

Ginny nodded silently. They exchanged "see you later"s and Harry quickly disappeared into his dormitory.

**END POV**

"Why are we forced through sit through that boring load of dung?" Ron muttered. He and Hermione were on their way back to the common room after the rather lengthy prefects meeting. "You know, my arse hurts from sitting in there for a bloody hour."

Hermione made a face. "I don't need information about your backside, thanks. And besides, the Head Boy made really good points about how students start slacking off at this time of year. We have to make sure people are working; it's important for us, what with the N.E.W.T.s next year and—"

"I _was_ at the meeting, in case you'd forgotten." Hermione stared at him blankly. He shook his head. "I already _heard _this once. This is just how you were after the O.W.L.s."

"Well, pardon me for starting a conversation with you." Hermione gave him a nasty glare and ignored his mumbled apology. When they reached the portrait hole, she said, "_Wingardium Leviosa_." The Fat Lady smiled at her sleepily and said, "That's right dear. You two are out so late! You need some decent sleep."

Hermione had obviously ignored her because she walked into the common room silently. Ron followed, giving the Fat Lady a sheepish smile. When the door closed, he looked around the common room. It was empty, with the exception of a few students writing vigorously in the corner. No doubt they were doing some last-minute homework. He smiled at the sight; it reminded him of Harry and himself.

Hermione had plopped herself down in her usual armchair next to the fire. He a took his place in his usual seat and said, "Are you going to do that Charms essay?"

She shrugged "I'll do it tomorrow. It's too late now, and besides, I didn't get too much sleep last night." She yawned as if to prove her point.

Ron chuckled. "Yeah, we turned in pretty late last night." He was silent for a moment and then said, "Do you think Harry's a bit...distant since last year?"

Hermione looked at him curiously. "What do you mean?"

"I was just looking at those students in the corner doing homework and they kinda reminded me of Harry and me. But, the way he acted last year, it ruined that." His face darkened. "I hated his first day at Grimmauld Place. I hated having to stand there listening to him yell at us. It's like he doesn't even care whether we're his friends or not."

Hermione bit her lip. "Well, you understand how he was feeling at that time. And you really can't blame him for being, in a sense, separated from us. I sincerely doubt he's over Sirius's death yet."

Ron looked her in the eye. "I'm not over Bill's death and you don't see me distancing myself from you guys." His scowl deepened.

"I'm sorry. I—I didn't mean to be inconsiderate about your reaction about Bill." She sighed. "I hate this. You two have to deal with all this and I really can't do anything to help you. I end up making you feel worse."

"Hermione, please don't give me that. I miss Bill, but I know it happened 'cause it was supposed to happen, I guess. It's hard, I won't deny that. It's hardest when I remember stuff that I did with Bill and..." He stopped talking. Instead, he stood up from the chair and sat on the floor in front of the fire with his back against the couch, and he stared at the flames, not saying anything.

Hermione watched him. When he didn't speak for minutes, she slowly left her chair and took a seat next to him. She didn't say anything, or urged him to continue speaking. She just sat with him. In fact, she was startled when he said, "I wish it hadn't happened, not so much for me but for Mum. She might yell at me and piss me off sometimes, but she's still my mum. She's the one who got me a pet Puffskein when she knew how stupid it was as a pet. Now she and my dad are sitting at home depressed while I prance around here happily every day." He sounded angry with himself. Without really thinking, he put his head on her shoulder. Hermione still said nothing. She had a feeling he only wanted to talk. So she let him relax and waited for him to speak.

But he didn't. When she looked down at him, he was asleep. A small smile strayed on her lips. She noticed Ron still looked very much like the little boy he had been in their first year. His cheeks weren't quite as pudgy and his hair was a bit longer, but besides that, he was looked like the same Ron. She sighed, not truly content or distressed, as she put her head lightly on top of Ron's.

Before she knew it, she, too, was asleep.

A/n: ack, I know that last bit sucked, but I hope you liked the rest of it! And I'm aware that I'm spending a bit too much time on Neville, but they leave for Hermione's house in the next chapter so they're will be plenty of Ron and Hermione instead. Okay, please review!! =)


	3. Departing and Arriving

A/n: THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE REVIEWS! I was so happy with all the encouragement you guys gave me with your reviews, and I'm totally grateful. Any thoughts of abandoning this fic are gone, gone, gone. Er, besides that, I don't have much to say except that foreshadowing in chapter 2 may not be what it seems...=) I don't want to confuse anyone so, er, this chapter is away from Hogwarts! Or, actually, in the process of getting away from Hogwarts. I've spoken enough...read!

Disclaimer: Don't own this. I basically only truly own....uhh, nothing. Sad, isn't it?

**NO SAFE HAVEN **

**Chapter 3: Departing and Arriving**

Harry covered his wide mouth, hiding the large yawn, as he walked down the stairs to the Gryffindor Common Room. His eyes felt squinty and he was still half asleep, so he couldn't even attempt to stifle the yawn. He'd been so tired lately. He didn't understand it. His sleep wasn't as troubled with nightmares, although occasionally the image of Sirius's body in an elegant arch as it fell through the veil flashed inside his eyelids, and he woke up with cold sweat on his face, neck, and arms. But the nightmares weren't as frequent; the worst one he'd had had been at the Burrow, the night when he dreamed of Ginny as his mother and himself as his father. He was rather thankful that his dreams were no longer haunted the way they had been, and was especially grateful that he no longer woke up screaming.

He also wasn't experiencing dreams about Voldemort's thought.

Somehow, and this truly scared him, he was troubled that his mind wasn't being invaded. Part of him was unnerved because he took this as a sign that Voldemort was scheming something terrible, much too terrible to be bothered by notions of using him as part of his plan. He didn't want to spend time imagining what sort of awful plot he was concocting. But another part of him was bothered for a whole other reason, and this was what frightened him. He had grown rather used to the familiarity of seeing things in his dreams, and now that he was no longer seeing such visions, he felt as if he had been thrown out of a cycle that he had been growing acclimated to. He didn't want to feel this way about it; he knew how useful his vulnerable mind was to the Dark Lord. He understood how important it was that his mind was not used as a pinpointing device for all that Voldemort needed. But nonetheless, he felt strange without the constant tug at his mind. He wasn't even sensing what Voldemort was feeling anymore.

He had been trying to avoid thinking about that. And his thoughts were certainly drawn away from that certain subject the minute he caught a glimpse of the Gryffindor Common Room. He wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or puke at what he saw; it gave him an odd mixture of amusement, disgruntlement, and disgust.

His best friends were asleep in front of the fire. He knew how late-night prefect duties were cutting into their sleeping hours, but he assumed the previous night they had been much too exhausted to walk up to their dormitories. This wasn't what bothered him. The fact that they were sleeping—well—in each other's arms, bothered him. He rolled his eyes slightly and continued walking down the stairs. As he tightened his belt, his eyes wandered over Hermione's head on Ron's shoulder to Ron's protective arm around her waist. He ran a hand through his hair and sniggered. It would have been highly entertaining if he hadn't been the first to walk into the common room that morning. For a moment, he pondered over the possibility of waking Fred and George until he remembered that the twins were no longer students at Hogwarts. This was one of the times he sorely missed them.

Ron must have been terribly tired. He hadn't even taken off his shoes. Both were still wearing their full uniform, however crumpled it may be. This made Harry feel slightly less nauseous. At least he could deduce they had fallen asleep of their own accord and the position in which they ended up only ensued while they were sleeping.

Well, he could hope.

He and Ginny had spoken about the two sometimes. They inevitably came up in their conversations. Ginny was always speculating on when they would "get together." Harry preferred not to think of that time. It wasn't that he didn't believe they were perfect for each other; quite on the contrary. Even before their first year had ended, he had noticed how Ron and Hermione's friendship was not quite as platonic as his with his female best friend. Of course, over time it had grown from not quite as platonic to not platonic in any way whatsoever. But that was too complicated a matter to be thinking about. He'd rather not think about the possibility of a Ron/Hermione couple.

In all sincerity, he didn't want to be left out, and that was the only thing that he disliked about his best friends' relationship. Then again, he had neglected them somewhat, considering his flourishing relationship with Ginny. But that was different...wasn't it? _You just keep telling yourself that, Potter. _

Harry shook his head and marched over to the spot on the rug where they were sleeping. It was best to wake them up quick and easy instead of waiting for others to see them in such state. Not that it mattered much. Almost the whole Gryffindor House had either discrete or public bets about when they would "get together."

He was about to nudge Ron in the ribs (the side where Hermione wasn't lying...) when the portrait hole swung open. He cursed mentally and prayed that it wasn't anyone who would make the scene look too incriminating. Hell, it looked incriminating enough all on its own. He made a mental note to kick his friends later. But he noticed that it was the youngest Weasley that had clambered through the door and he relaxed. Ginny wouldn't run around screaming about this to all the Gryffindors. She would just tease Ron and Hermione till next year. That was an acceptable consequence.

She grinned. "Hey, Harry," she said. He returned the smile and nodded to the two sleeping figures.

"What do you reckon happened?"

Ginny snorted. "There are a lot of things that I reckon happened, but I doubt any of them are in any way accurate."

Harry glared at her. "They have all their clothes on, Ginevra."

She laughed. "Now you're just being nasty." She walked over to him and gave him a quick kiss. "Well, it's not like they're going to tell us if anything _did_ happen. Knowing Ron, he'll probably blush to the tips of his ears, stammer, and claim that they 'fell asleep.'"

"Naturally." Harry prodded Ron's side with his foot and the redhead jerked awake. Hermione immediately opened her eyes as well, seeing as her pillow had rudely jumped while she was still sleeping. Ron's eyes were tiny slits, and they were red-rimmed. His hair was almost as disheveled as Hermione's, which was a mess of tangles and curls. She seemed much more awake than Ron. Then again, it could mean that she had realized where she was—and with who—long before Ron did.

When he _did _understand the situation, though, it was much more comedic than Hermione's wide, disbelieving eyes. Like Ginny had predicted, his ears turned such a deep shade of red they looked almost purple. His cheeks instead lost all their color. And he instantly did what was natural for Ron Weasley to do.

He swore.

"Shit! What the bloody hell are you doing here?"

Ginny and Harry laughed. Hermione scowled and glared.

"Yes, good morning to you too, Ron. I seem to recall you were the one who fell asleep first, therefore you are the one to blame. So don't start firing every swear word you can dream up at me." She gave him a stern look and quickly rolled off him.

Harry thought he saw a touch of disappointment on his face. It was quickly replaced by a frown as he muttered, "Sorry."

Hermione patted down her hair, which was larger than usual. "Thanks for waking us up, you two. I'm glad you were the first down here," she said, as Ron loosened his tie rather roughly.

Ginny gave her a look that had pity and laughter mingled in it. "Oh, please, Hermione. All the seventh years are downstairs eating breakfast, and half the third years too. They all saw you two down here but, well, I don't think many Gryffindors take it as a surprise."

Hermione's jaw clenched. She said nothing and instead stood up. Ron threw his tie down and said, "Ginny, you're nutters. Not to mention incredibly stupid."

Ginny gave her brother a nasty look. "You know, brother dear, I have no problem writing to mother and informing her that—"

Her sentence was interrupted by a small shriek from Hermione. Everyone looked at her questioningly. She looked flustered and angry with herself. Shaking her head, she said quickly, "My parents are due sometime this morning. Don't tell me you two already forgot that we're leaving for my house today! Ugh, but of course. I can't trust boys to think for themselves, especially not this one." She shot Ron a disgusted glare. He returned it. Choosing to ignore him, Hermione looked expectantly at Harry. "Well, don't just stand there, Harry! Get your things! We need to get down to breakfast and have everything ready. My parents don't like to be kept waiting..." She said all this while collecting her books from the table in front of the couch. When she saw Ron still sitting, she shrieked, "Are you deaf?!"

Ron muttered something with the words "bossy" and "moody women" in it, but he stood up nonetheless and trudged to the stairs and dragged his feet up the steps to his dormitory.

Hermione threw herself into a chair and crossed her arms in front of her chest, biting her lower lip. Harry watched Ginny giving her a curious look and he knew she was pondering whether or not to point out that she herself should do the same as she had just ordered Ron to do. Harry shot her a warning look and Ginny just smiled. Hermione noticed.

"Oh, don't think I can't tell you two are on the verge of telling me that I have to pack up too. I'm not stupid, contrary to popular belief." She unfolded her arms and said, "Just—just out of curiosity, Gin...did any of the students who passed by here when we were asleep make a big deal out of this?"

Ginny gave her a disbelieving look. "Hermione, if you came across two of you fellow House mates asleep together in front of the couch, would you notice? And would you make a big deal out of it? And would you immediately assume that—"

Hermione held up a hand. "You've made your point." She rubbed her eyes and groaned. "Great start to a holiday," she muttered. She pushed herself up off the couch (apparently, she couldn't make up her mind whether to sit or stand). She looked at Harry like she had never seen him before. "What are you still doing here?"

"Pardon?"

Hermione closed her eyes and turned away from him. "Get—your—stuff!"

Ginny nudged Harry and whispered, "You better go. She's leaning towards violent. It must not be a good day for her."

Harry glanced sideways at her. "You think?" He smiled, kissed her on the cheek, and walked to the stairs. "I'll be right down, Hermione."

"You better." She was definitely bitter. Maybe it had something to do with her rude awakening. She sighed and turned to look at Ginny. "You don't think—people won't be talking about it much, though, will they?"

Ginny shrugged. "They'll forget about it sometime soon, but definitely not the Creevey brothers."

"Why is that?"

The youngest Weasley chuckled. She made her way to the staircase leading to her dormitory and started to walk up. Halfway up the stairs, she said, "You know, you should pack too."

Hermione waved her hand dismissively. "I don't need to. I packed all my things two days ago. I just need a quick shower. But explain to me why the Creevey brothers won't forget."

"Because they took the liberty of snapping a picture of you two." With that, the redhead ran up the rest of the stairs before Hermione could react. But she didn't start screaming or tearing her hair out or ripping the nearest cushion apart.

Hermione laughed and threw herself back on the couch, unable to get the thought of her head on Ron's shoulder out of her mind.

**END POV**

Ron dragged his trunk down the stairs. He didn't bother to lift it up, not even with magic, and thus the loud thumps earned him nasty looks from the Gryffindors relaxing in the common rooms. But this didn't disturb Ron; his mind was elsewhere.

Sure, he had just had a minor argument with Hermione, and she was in a "bad mood," but he saw through that façade easily. He didn't understand why she was trying so hard to make people forget about what they had been seeing for years. He was almost positive that she felt the way he did, so why waste energy attempting to hide it? But then again, he never could fully understand Hermione Granger and he knew that, in ways, he never would.

"Ron!" Her voice wasn't angry, but she was catching his attention. He smiled, glad that she was behind him so she couldn't see the grin (although the fact that she was prodding him sharply in the back was rather annoying). She knew when he became lost in his own mind without even having to look at him. But she might have come to the conclusion that he was too deep in thought when he stopped in the middle of the staircase. Poking his back once more, she said, "Come on, Ron, you're blocking the way and my trunk is heavy."

He glanced back at her. "Sorry." He stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out his wand. Pointing it at the trunk at Hermione's side, he said, "_Mobilires!_" The trunk lifted into the air, floating at Hermione's shoulder. "Back up for a sec, please," Ron said. She did as she was told and he directed the trunk with his wand so that it floated in front of him. "Now can I stand here?" He gave her a lopsided smile.

Hermione bit her lip. He knew the effect his lopsided smile had on her. She glared at her feebly and said, "Don't get smart on me. Now go down! My parents will have a fit!"

Ron laughed and led both trunks down the rest of the stairs, still allowing his to emit the loud thumps as it hit each step. At the bottom, he kicked it off to the side and gently let Hermione's float down on top of it. Then he clapped his hands satisfactorily and looked around for Harry.

"Quite the gentleman, aren't you, mate?" he said when Ron found him, sitting smugly in his usual chair. Ginny was perched on the armrest. On the floor next to the chair sat Luna cross-legged; Ron was still trying to get used to her almost daily visits. She gave Ron a smile, her protuberant eyes looking more awake than ever. He waved awkwardly and said, "Yeah, Harry, you should learn from me."

Ginny draped an arm around Harry. "No, he's all right the way he is." She kissed him on the cheek and Ron made a gagging noise. Hermione, who was now standing next to Ron, chuckled and said, "We should get going. My parents are probably waiting in the entrance hall. They were due 5 minutes ago."

Harry nodded. He stood up and brought Ginny close to him. Ron rolled his eyes and sat on the trunks, muttering, "This is gonna take a while." Ginny gave him a sharp look, but her attention was taken back to Harry when he put his arms around her waist.

"I'm going to spend Christmas day with you at the Burrow. You know that, right? And Hermione said you could come over any time," he said to her. Ginny nodded. "Even so...I'll miss you. I've gotten used to you. You're not as annoying anymore." He smiled and she returned it. Ron couldn't help but smile a little himself.

"Yeah, well, you've come a long way yourself," she said. "Mum said she wouldn't mind having you over once in a while, or maybe often, or maybe everyday. I don't expect you to come everyday but...once in a while is good." She tilted her head upward and caught his mouth in hers. She kissed him deeply for a few seconds, then pulled away. She whispered something to him, he nodded, and then they let go of each other. Harry looked expectantly at his best friends.

Ron tried his best to wipe the look of slight nausea off his face. Hermione, who had been leaning on the stair railing, looked up. She walked to Ginny (Ron couldn't help catching a whiff of her freshly shampooed hair—it smelled like lavender), hugged her, and said, "You definitely need to come by sometime, Gin. It's not the same without you." The younger girl nodded and promised she would drop by. Ron took this as his cue to stand and pick up his trunk (and charm Hermione's). He patted his sister on the arm and said, "I'll see you soon, sis."

Ginny grinned. "Yes, unfortunately." She gave her brother a loving hug and said, "Have fun!" All three friends nodded. Harry leaned over sideways a bit and waved to Luna, "'Bye, Luna." Hermione offered the girl a smile. "Have a good holiday," she said. Ron gave her an acknowledging nod. "I reckon we'll see you Christmas day," he said, and Luna nodded.

"I'm growing a nest of nargles on my bedroom window at home. Maybe I'll come by and show it to all of you," she said cheerfully. Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged nervous glances and laughed.

"Sounds like something to look forward to," said Harry.

"Here, Ron, let me take that," Hermione said, reaching for her trunk. Ron floated it out of the way.

"I've got it. Just open the door. Your parents are waiting."

She smiled. "Thanks."

Ron saw Harry glance at Seamus and Dean, who were sitting across from each other playing chess nearby. They were both giving Hermione knowing looks. Ron felt his ears flush. His cheeks joined in when Seamus mouthed the word, "Whipped." Harry gave him a sympathetic look, shrugged, and followed Hermione out of the portrait hole.

Ron, with no suitable retort, followed as well.

**END POV**

"This is it."

Emerging from the car, Ron found himself looking at a magnificent house. Its walls were made of a fine white marble, making it glisten even more than the snow covering its shingled roof. It was a large house, no doubt about it. Ron was sure there were plenty more rooms than necessary inside. Everything seemed to be in place, even from the outside. The snow on the yard was patted down neatly, and none of it strayed onto the stone path leading up to the door. The garage was completely clear of snow as Mr. Granger pulled into it and brought the car to a stop. Every aspect of Hermione's house was a sharp contrast to the Burrow, the house where Ron had grown up and lived all his life. The two houses were about as different as—well—as him and Hermione. The irony of it was almost funny.

"So you live in a castle even when you're not in school?" Ron said, still staring at the house in awe. Harry sniggered as he closed the car door. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"You're either at a lack of observational skills or you're blind," Hermione said, walking past him and up the stone pathway.

Ron smirked. "Isn't that about the same thing?"

Hermione stopped walking. She turned and glared at Ron. Choosing to ignore his somewhat true statement, she said, "Daddy, do you think you could bring our trunks in for us? I want to show the boys around. They tend to lose their way even in the simplest of places."

"Hey, I've found my way through a labyrinth, so I'm not as dimwitted as Ron," Harry said, making his way up to the door and taking in his surroundings at the same time.

Ron shook his head. "Am I that easy to make fun of?" Both his friends nodded. Ron laughed and went to the trunk of the car, where he lifted one of the trunks out. Mr. Granger gave him a pat on the back and said, "Thanks, son." Ron couldn't prevent his ears from reddening slightly at the word "son," even if it _was _just a figure of speech. He was very much aware that Harry sniggered heartily when he saw this. Mr. Granger told him he could leave the trunk in the entrance room and he'd take care of taking them up. Ron nodded and went to join his friends at the door.

Hermione smiled and rang the doorbell. They heard the sounds of high heels clicking on a tile floor and then the door opened to reveal a rather pretty middle-aged woman. She had straight light brown hair that curled at the tips. Her face was the color of a porcelain doll, and her face reminded Ron of one too. She had nice features and wore little make-up. Her eyes were warm, friendly, and showed she was a clever woman. Without a doubt, Hermione had her eyes and smile.

"Hermione, darling!" Mrs. Granger said when she saw her daughter. The two embraced. Ron knew how much Hermione missed her mother while she was at school. She had told him how she felt a rift growing between her and her parents, and she wanted to let them know that she cherished the time she could spend with them. Ron didn't know how it felt, what with his close contact with his family, but he hoped she'd find some quality time with her parents.

"Mum, you've already met them once, but I daresay it's been quite a while," Hermione said, beaming. "Here are my best friends, Ron and Harry." Mrs. Granger's eyes traveled from Ron's grinning, freckled face, down to Harry's nervous, small smile.

"Well," she said, hugging each boy briefly, "You two have certainly grown. Especially you!" She chuckled as she stood in front of Ron. "And you don't intimidate my daughter too much? You're much taller than her," she said to him.

Ron shook his head and said, "No, ma'am, but I do make a habit of teasing her about it." Hermione bit her lip and Ron's stomach did an odd flop—there was pride and pleasure etched in every part of her face.

Mrs. Granger laughed. "And Harry. I hear you're the referee between these two."

Harry shot his friends amused glances and nodded. "Yeah, they never leave each other alone. They're either the best of friends or ready to rip out each other's throats."

"I see." Mrs. Granger raised an eyebrow and said, "Well, Harry, I think we'll spend plenty of time talking, eh?" Ron's cheeks reddened and both Mrs. Granger and Harry laughed.

Hermione shook her head and said, "Honestly, Mother." She then grabbed Harry and Ron's wrists. "Come on! I want to show you around!" Before they could object, they were dragged up the ornate staircase.

At the top of the stairs, Hermione let go of their wrists and said, "Well, what do you want to see? The rooms where you'll be staying, the bathrooms—"

"Your room," they said in unison.

Hermione looked taken aback. "My bedroom? What for? You have no business in there."

Ron gave her a sly look. "Why, 'Mione? Are you hiding something?"

Hermione raised a finger up in front of his face in warning. "_Don't_ call me that!"

Ron wrapped his hand around her finger and held it tight. "All right. But you do have to show us your room. That's one of the greatest reasons to visit your best friend's house! You need to rummage in their rooms to fully understand their personality and see what they're like when they're all alone."

"Ron's giving you rubbish, Hermione. Basically, we just want to see your room 'cause you're a girl. It's gotta be totally different from ours." Harry gave her a simple explanation but he wasn't sure if she heard all of it, seeing as she was staring fixedly at her finger wrapped in Ron's hand.

She snapped out of her trance, however, and said, "Very well, then. I assure you my room isn't blinding to the eye at first sight."

"Oh, please, Hermione, you've spent plenty of time in my room to still be vulnerable to the colors." Ron turned red immediately after he said this. Hermione couldn't hide the red tinge on her cheeks. But she was biting back a laugh nonetheless.

"Actually, _Harry's _spent more time in your room than me."

The three friends looked at each other and, after a round of "Eww"s, burst into laughter. Hermione clutched her stomach; Harry and Ron leaned on each other, trying not to fall. It was comforting when they spent time laughing like this together. It erased the darker thoughts from their minds. So even through the laughter, they appreciated the fact that they were with each other. When their giggles finally died down, Hermione said, "Okay, my room's over this way."

Following her down the hallway to the right, Ron counted 6 doors before they reached Hermione's room (the second to last door on the hallway). Hermione opened the door and entered before them. When Ron stepped inside, he took a quick glance around and smiled. There were aspects of the room that just _felt _like Hermione. But there were other things that you didn't normally associate with Hermione. Her walls were a pretty shade of orange, a mix of orange-juice orange with a hint of mahogany to make it subtler. It wasn't vibrant, but the room looked lively and well kept. There were bookcases on three of the walls that almost touched the ceiling. There were paperbacks and hardcovers, of all colors and sizes. It seemed Hermione used any and all of her money on books. But that wasn't too hard to believe. Her desk was next to her bed, and it was very organized. There were fresh sheets of parchment on it, and a quill in its bottle of ink next to it. On a shelf on the desk sat a couple of Muggle schoolbooks and regular spiral notebooks, with plenty of sharpened pencils neatly sitting in a cup. A pretty, old-fashioned lamp adorned the left side of her desk. Her bed looked comfortable and wasn't too distracting. The bedsheets were a soft blue color with no particular pattern, except for the few golden five-point stars scattered here and there. Ron liked the fact that he saw no large mirrors anywhere in the room; he knew she was never one to care for her looks, and she honestly didn't have to. Her room was homey and Ron couldn't help but take a liking to it right away. _Planning on spending a fair amount of time here, eh, Weasley? _

The few things in her room that seemed out of place were on her desk, her bed, and her nightstand. On her desk was a pink book. It looked out of place simply because it was pink and flowery. Hermione saw him looking at it. She picked it up and said, "I kept this because my grandmother gave it to me before she died. I was really close to her. She gave me pictures that she particularly liked from when I was a little girl." Immediately, Ron and Harry dashed over to her and tried to take the album from her. She held it against her chest, however, and shook her head. "Maybe some other day. I want to finish showing you guys the house."

"Whoa, whoa, wait. What's with the little dog?" Ron asked, pointing to her bed. Hermione was not the type to keep cute little stuffed animals, but there sat one on her bed, a rather adorable golden retriever puppy. It's tongue hung out of its mouth and gave Ron a friendly stare.

Hermione looked at it and Ron saw a touch of sadness in her eyes. "He's Pygmalion. The only pet I ever had before Crookshanks."

"Uhh, Hermione? He's not a real dog," Ron said. Hermione gave him a cold glare.

"I know he's not." She sat on the edge of her bed and put the puppy in her lap. "I had a dog, a golden retriever puppy, when I was 8 years old. I loved him so much. When we played fetch, I noticed I wasn't too coordinated, because when I wasn't hitting Pygmalion in the face, I ended up throwing the ball somewhere where he couldn't fetch it. I used to fall asleep with him like little kids fall asleep with their teddy bears. I think the only reason I talk so much is because I wouldn't shut up when I was around my dog."

"What happened?" asked Harry softly.

Hermione shrugged. "He got cancer about 7 months after I first got him. In 2 months, he was too weak to move. We had to put him to sleep. I was devastated. When I was 9 years old, my best friend gave me this stuffed animal. She said I could imagine it was Pygmalion, and I always have." She gave the dog a hug. "Sometimes I'm a little afraid to get too attached to Crookshanks."

"At least you've never forgotten Pygmalion," Harry said.

"No," Hermione said, smiling. "I haven't. And I won't." There was silence for a few moments, until Ron saw Harry looking at one particular object near the bed.

Harry pointed to her nightstand. "You actually have a mirror!"

Hermione kicked him. "Of course."

Ron gave Harry a mock-horrified look. "She _is _a girl, in case you haven't noticed." Hermione grinned and said, "Yeah, well, I don't spend time in front of a huge mirror, so I just keep a small one and a brush handy." The brush lay neatly next to the mirror.

"Yes, except she never actually _uses _the brush." Ron accepted the well-deserved punch from Hermione. "I'm going to have to take away your italicizing privileges," she said. He sat next to her on the bed as they all shared another bout of laughter. That's when his eye caught something else on the nightstand.

"The perfume I gave you," he said, pointing to the sky blue bottle. Hermione bit her lip. "Yes...I left it here during the summer, because I didn't want anything to happen to it. I only wear perfume on special occasions, and so I didn't bring it to school." Ron nodded, but he knew his face must have shown some disappointment. He had used a lot of money to buy that perfume, and he had really hoped she'd actually use it—and like it.

"Oh, Ron, don't get me wrong! It's not that I don't like it. But it's so...special. I would be extremely disappointed if I accidentally broke it or something," she said. She laid a hand on his arm but he quickly moved it away. It didn't really matter what she said—he should have known she wanted a present of much better quality.

There was a moment of awkward silence. Luckily, Crookshanks strode into the room at that very moment, followed by someone who definitely took the attention off the subject of the tiny bottle of perfume.

"Hermione!" a girl's voice squealed. Ron looked up to see a girl about their age walk through the door. She had pretty almond shaped eyes and straight dark brown hair that swished down past her shoulders. She flashed Hermione a friendly smile and ran over to her. Hermione had jumped up when she had seen her enter and now she hugged her, grinning. "I didn't know you were coming to stay for Christmas! I haven't seen you in _ages_."

"I know, I know...I'm sorry! I just don't have the chance to come visit my parents and spend time down her too often."

The girl nodded seriously. "Don't worry. I've heard boarding school is a drag."

Ron and Harry exchanged glances. That wiped all thoughts of the girl possibly being aware of Hermione being a witch. They turned their attention back to the two girls.

"Ron, Harry, this is Lennie Hunter. She was my best friend before I went to boarding school. Lennie, these are my best friends, Ron Weasley and Harry Potter. I met them my first year at boarding school." Hermione pointed to each boy in turn as she said his name. Lennie grinned at both of them.

"Pleasure," she said, shaking Harry's hand. When she shook Ron's, he noticed her hand lingered on his for a moment longer than with Harry. He didn't make a big deal out of it. Hermione's eyebrow had twitched for a moment, but she obviously didn't want too read too much into it, because she was still smiling when Lennie released Ron's hand.

"Lennie's the one who gave me Pygmalion." Hermione beamed at Lennie. Ron observed that Lennie looked like an athlete; she was slender and looked like she had little fat on her body.

"So are you two staying here?" Lennie asked, glancing enthusiastically from Ron to Harry.

"Oh yeah," said Ron, giving her a lopsided grin. It must have had the same effect on Lennie as it did on Hermione because she had to look away for a moment.

"Well, I hope I'll get the chance to spend time to get to know you guys," she said.

"As do I," Ron replied.

Hermione perched herself down next to Ron on the bed. "They're great. Might be a little hard-headed sometimes but they're still the best."

Lennie held eye contact with Ron for a second. "I can tell."

Ron noticed Harry watching him watching Lennie. He glanced at his best friend out of the corner of his eye and exchanged one of those Looks that best friends develop over the years, one of the Looks that say very much but makes its message completely clear. Ron wasn't going gaga over this girl, but he knew Harry understood that she was quite a difference from the girls they were used to at Hogwarts.

Apart from Hermione, of course.

A/n: Whew! That was a longer chapter than usual (oh, by one page). Sorry it took so long for me to update, but now I'm really getting into this story cuz I just got flooded with ideas and, well, I've been getting a fair dosage of Johnny Depp, which always helps. A big shoutout to my friend Lennie, who I'm sure is going to kill me. I love ya!

PLEASE REVIEW! =)


	4. Friendly Bonding

A/n: Thanks for all the reviews, guys! I really appreciate them. Sorry for the long time, no update. I know the concept of Hermione's friend has been really overdone, but I have Lennie in this fic because she plays a different role than most people would expect.

Disclaimer: Still don't own them...I will have to continue my love for Ron from afar!

**Chapter 4: Friendly Bonding**

Ron watched the glow-in-the-dark stars glued on the ceiling with mild interest. Hermione had given him a look when he poked fun at the small galaxy displayed on the ceiling of the room where he and Harry were staying. It was a nice, cozy room, with light green walls and a large window overlooking the front yard. He hadn't really had a problem with the glow-in-the-dark stars. He was just accustomed to the canopy over his four-poster at Hogwarts. But this was nice. He didn't think it was at all childish like he had said to Hermione. In fact, it reminded him, in ways, of the Great Hall. In the darkness, he smiled.

He had a knack for saying things that ticked Hermione off. It had become something of a hobby for him. He didn't quite understand why he did it. All right, maybe that was a bit of a lie. At times, it was all too clear, even to him (and with his thick head, he was clueless a very large portion of the time), why he attempted to draw Hermione's attention to him. He couldn't lie to himself; he loved having her brown eyes staring at him, whether they be chastising, friendly, or angry. He greatly enjoyed the conversations they had, which had definitely increased over the past year, what with their time alone during prefect duties. Conversations between the two ranged anywhere from the future to sillier things, like if they'd ever sucked their thumb or picked their nose in secret. _I don't think I'll ever completely grow up. _

Not that he hadn't changed, in the sense of "growing up." After the harsh end of his summer, it had been harder to return to a normal life. For weeks after Bill's death, painful thoughts would shoot into his head, like how their family was two Weasleys short (he wasn't too keen on being on good terms with Percy just yet). He'd have nightmares about his mother breaking down completely and swearing to die of sorrow if she had to lose another son. This had even forced thoughts of distancing himself from Harry. And whenever such thoughts invaded his mind, he couldn't help being angry with himself. He would not stoop to Percy's level. He'd never leave the side of those he cared about to save his own skin. Never.

Ron turned on his side and glanced at his best friend on the bed next to his, sleeping soundly. He'd been growing used to Harry's undisturbed sleep. Part of him took this as a good sign, a symbol that Voldemort was maybe plot-less and knew no way to attack once more. But the smarter part of him grew uneasy as Harry's sleep was more and more regular. What could Voldemort be planning that he even managed to keep his thoughts and feelings hidden from Harry, whose mind was practically connected to his? The four months of no Voldemort trouble was unnerving. The Order never let its guard down, though, and this comforted him more than anything. Fred and George were finally part of the Order, and he was thankful for this. Much to their mother's objections, the twins informed Ron of anything important happening. Even so, there wasn't much to tell.

A large yawn broke his train of thought, reminding him to get some sleep. No doubt Hermione would wake them up nice and early to do homework or something equally insane. Or maybe she would actually allow them to do something entertaining. Ron was curious about the Muggle world and Hermione's neighborhood. He really wanted to see the place where Hermione had grown up and what (if anything) had made her become such a bookworm. He laughed silently. There must be a huge library somewhere close by. If not, then it proved his theory that Hermione was just Hermione. It would be fun, nonetheless, to explore a Muggle place that wasn't as—well—crappy as the Dursleys.' So far, everything had taken quite an interesting turn.

Ron had been pretty surprised to find out Hermione had had a close friend before she went to Hogwarts. Not that she wasn't a wonderful (and rather talkative, contrary to popular belief) friend, but he'd always thought that she had been an antisocial child. Apparently not. Lennie and Hermione were about as different as him and Hermione. So it was quite amusing to see the two girls yapping like mad the previous night. According to Hermione, it had been a while since she and Lennie had been given an opportunity to spend time together, what with Hermione being away most of the year (including the summer). She probably wouldn't have had much bonding time with Lennie during the summer even if she _had _been home; Lennie said that she spent the summer at a football camp that she loved dearly.

Lennie was a fun person, there was no doubt about that. She gave off an aura of someone who is very optimistic, with a wonderful smile always plastered on her face. At first glance, she seemed like the type of person who would blend into the crowd, her delicate Asian eyes curious spots of brown on her circular face. But no, rather, she was an outgoing girl, and Ron could tell she was someone you could spend time with and not grow in any way tired or annoyed. Lennie was a charming girl, just because she was so full of life. Harry and Ron noticed it right away, and they were already quite taken with her.

Lennie had stayed for dinner, and Mr. and Mrs. Granger had glanced at her lovingly as she and Hermione chatted animatedly. Ron didn't mind that Hermione was focusing her attention on Lennie. He just watched with mild curiosity at Hermione around a girl her own age, something he hadn't really seen much before, with Ginny being younger and all. Halfway through dinner he had chuckled with this thought in his mind, because he was suddenly wondered what had made him daft enough not to notice that Hermione was a girl, even if she wasn't your average, bubbly one.

The plan for the next day was Lennie would take them around the town. Ron was feeling almost giddy with eagerness. He hadn't ever been in a fully Muggle neighborhood, what with the Lovegoods just down his street and a small number of other Wizarding families not too far away. He didn't expect anything in sharp contrast to his own neighborhood, but it would be interesting nonetheless. And he was looking forward to getting to know Lennie—she was a nice fresh of air amidst all the troubling thoughts they'd been dealing with lately.

Harry grunted in his sleep. Ron's body tensed instinctively. He waited for a few seconds with bated breath, half-expecting Harry to sit up drenched in cold sweat. But he didn't, and so Ron relaxed and felt his eyelids begin to droop. For some odd reason, he did not want to sleep. His mind seemed somehow packed with thoughts that needed to be sorted out. Why he would choose to do the thought sorting just before sleep was beyond him. He ignored the feeling of insomnia and closed his eyelids resolutely. He had them this way for a few minutes when he suddenly thought of something, completely irrelevant to anything else he had been thinking about.

_I didn't say good-night to Hermione._

He opened his eyes drowsily and cursed his own brain. What kind of sleep-disturbing thought was that? _You should say good-night to her. _

It's one in the bloody morning, Ron shot back at the voice in his brain.

_Well, sorry, Weasley, I'd forgotten how careless and rude you are. _

Ron groaned softly. The voice in his head sounded way too much like Hermione. He didn't understand why he just didn't ignore it. But he found himself throwing the heavy covers off his body and standing on the cold wood floor. And before he knew it, his feet had led him to the door of Hermione's room.

He rubbed his eyes with his hands. This was immensely stupid. Hermione would just hiss at him, chastising him for waking her up for such a useless reason. Nevertheless, he raised his hand and knocked on the door. He stood with his eyes puffy with tiredness, waiting to see if Hermione would open the door.

She did. She looked as tired as he did. When she saw him, she gave him a curious look and rubbed her eyes like he himself had done just a minute before. Then she opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again, and then finally decided on keeping it closed. She folded her arms over her pajama shirt and gave him an expectant, are-you-mad look.

Ron let his mouth twist into a lopsided, sheepish grin. He saw a muscle twitch on the outside of her mouth and knew there would be no way she would be annoyed with him. He gave her a little wave and said, "I, er...well, I didn't say good-night to you. So...er...good-night."

Hermione gave him a suspicious look. "Are you kidding?" Ron raised his eyebrows in surprise and shook his head. Hermione looked at him like she had never seen him before. "Oh," she said softly. She seemed wide-awake now for some reason, and she was still looking at him strangely. Ron decided he would much rather be in bed, although he didn't regret coming. If that made any sense at all, then his name was Draco Malfoy.

Hermione's small smile made him ignore his thoughts. She nodded her head slightly and said, "Okay. Thanks." She bit her lip and looked at the floor for a moment before meeting his eyes again. "Good-night." She gave him one last unusual look—what _was _she thinking?—and simply stepped inside her room and closed the door.

Ron stood in front of the door even after she had closed it, aware that he still had the sheepish smile plastered on his face. He shook his head and thought, _That's the mark of a great witch. That girl has powers beyond her own reasoning. _

For she had managed to make him rise at one in the morning to say good-night. And when it came to forcing Ron Weasley to obey—well, that was something to brag about.

END POV 

The next day, Lennie showed up earlier than expected. Ron was still sitting groggily at the breakfast table, munching half-heartedly at his toast. He hadn't had much rest last night. He'd gone back to bed and couldn't stop thinking about—coincidentally—Hermione. He was paying for it now, however, because he felt dreadfully tired. When Hermione announced that Lennie had arrived, Ron and Harry retreated to their rooms to change out of their pajamas. Despite his weariness, Ron was as eager as ever to explore the new frontiers, study the habitat of Muggles, understand all the wonder that was—

"The shopping centre? We're going to the _shopping centre_?" Harry said, raising an eyebrow. Hermione nodded cheerfully and grabbed his wrist with one hand and Ron's wrist with the other. Harry looked puzzled. "But the shopping centre isn't that...unique. I've never really been to one, but they're common, aren't they?"

Hermione turned around. "You've never been to a shopping centre?" She gave him a sympathetic look. "Those Dursleys are quite dreadful, aren't they?"

"I'm glad you've finally noticed," Harry said sarcastically. Hermione gave him a pointed look. Then she turned to Ron and said, "I'm sure you've never been to a shopping centre."

"What's a shopping centre?"

Hermione and Harry laughed. "You'll see," Hermione said, and she continued dragging them down the stairs to the foyer, where Lennie was waiting. She was wearing jeans and a white tank top, with her hair loose around her shoulders. Perched on her nose were glasses she hadn't been wearing the previous day. They were a nice oval shape that suited her features perfectly and she gave all reason to use the word "style" in the same sentence as "glasses." Harry and Ron grinned at her. She gave them a bright smile and waved.

"We're ready," said Hermione. "And I've got 60 pounds with me. Think that's too much?"

Lennie shook her head sagely. "There is never such a thing as too much money."

"I agree," piped Ron. Harry snorted.

Lennie grinned and said, "That's plenty, Herm. Let's go."

Hermione shot Ron a glance and started to move towards the door, but he was too quick. He grabbed her wrist and said, "Hey! You let her call you 'Herm.' How come I don't get that privilege?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, Ron, don't be petty about a silly nickname." She yanked her wrist out of his hand and walked out the door. The others followed suit, Ron scowling slightly.

Lennie told them that the shopping centre was not too far away, and so they wouldn't need a ride from Hermione's dad. Hermione seemed excited; Ron guessed she hadn't been to this shopping centre in quite a few years. Harry seemed pretty neutral about the whole thing. Lennie walked next to the trio, smiling contentedly.

Ron looked around as they walked. He had been right in thinking that the neighborhood was like his, minus the whole magical folk thing. The houses were larger than the ones in his neighborhood, all roughly about the size of Hermione's, with the same well-kept aspect. He quickly lost interest and became immersed in the conversation.

"...a load of work," Hermione was saying. "But it's quite all right, we understood _why _they did it, naturally, our most important test came at the end of the year—"

"Yeah, but they crossed the line between preparation and madness," Ron muttered.

Lennie laughed. "I suppose that means you put your work off?"

Ron grinned. "Of course. That's what all normal people do." He gave Hermione a teasing look and she slapped his shoulder. Ron distinctly saw Harry roll his eyes, but didn't say anything.

"So what's your life like, Lennie?" Ron asked. "I don't mean to pry or anything, but I guess it'll be easier for me and Harry to get to know you."

Lennie smiled and said, "Not to worry, I understand. I won't drag out my life story. That would be painfully boring. I've got a pretty average family. My parents are a lot like the Grangers; they met in high school and they've been together ever since. It's creepy sometimes how well they get along. Not very interesting, you know? My brother, Eric, is in university right now. He's twenty. He's been recognized _tons _of times for football AND academics. My parents are so overly happy." Lennie chuckled and rolled her eyes. "But that's all right. I guess they're just proud. I mean, my sister, Melinda, is only six and she's already considered gifted. So they have pretty good kids."

"I take it you're a good student, then?" Harry said, sounding mildly interested.

Lennie shrugged. "Yes, I suppose so. I hate my geometry teacher, though. Her purple eyebrows scare me half to death every time I look at her." Everyone shared a laugh for a bit and then let Lennie continue. "I'm really into sports. Mostly football. I play defender for my team, the Soaring Hawks. It's great fun. We have practice for 2 hours, 3 times a week. I love it, I'm a really big football nerd."

Ron knew he must look immensely confused. He'd only heard Dean talk about football (although he'd never accepted his offers to learn about the game) and he thought that the fact no brooms were involved made it boring. Hearing Lennie talking about it made it seem somehow much more interesting and fun. It was all in that vibe she gave off. Ron made a mental note to ask her a bit about the sport.

"My parents wish I was more into academics, though," Lennie said. "They gush over Eric and Melinda, so sometimes I'm kinda overlooked, but it's all right, I don't have a problem with it. I love what I'm doing and I don't need my parents to live my life for me." She smiled again and showed no signs of bitterness towards her parents. It was still a bit of a miracle that she was so optimistic. Ron immediately understood why she had such a great aura.

Hermione grinned and put an arm around her childhood friend. "Lennie was always very...er...outspoken. One time she brought her football shoes for show and tell at school, and some of the kids made fun of her because the shoes were torn and dirty."

"What happened?" asked Harry, looking amused.

Hermione laughed. "Let's just say that I doubt those kids will ever tease anyone again."

The group shared a laugh again, and Harry even gave Lennie a high five. She shrugged good-naturedly and said, "Hey, you've got to stand up for what you believe in. I don't like people telling me what I can and can't like, according to their perfect social structure. I don't care what's in and what's not; I do what I want, when I want to. If I got a sudden impulse to do a crazy rain dance, then I'd go ahead and do it." Lennie smiled. Ron suddenly realized how right she was. Maybe that was the secret to her optimism.

"What about you guys?" Lennie asked. "Tell me a little bit about yourselves."

Ron looked expectantly at Harry. He wanted to have time to think up the interesting manner to explain his life and personality, while of course leaving out everything about magic. He wanted Harry to go first so he could use some time to think. Harry didn't give him much though.

Hermione was giving Harry a very secret warning look, but Ron had no trouble seeing it. All it said was, "DON'T-MENTION-MAGIC." Harry gave a slight nod of his head to indicate he understood and said, "Well, what can I say? My life's not a novel or anything of the sort. My parents got killed in...a car crash, when I was one, so I don't really remember them much. Ever since they died, I lived with my messed up relatives, my aunt and uncle and their whale of a son. I didn't get very good treatment with them, so I was more than happy to go to boarding school. I've been there ever since. So far, I've made friends with a dirty-nosed redhead with an unbelievable temper and a bushy haired girl who talks too much." He gave his friends smiles, to show that in no way did he mean to insult them. Ron was glad; his voice had been emotionless while talking about his parents and the Dursleys. Harry rolled his eyes and added, "I've also managed to make enemies with one of my teachers and a snotty, rich brat who thinks both Ron and Hermione are scum. But we don't really care about him, since he's got the mentality of a two year old." Then, to Ron's dismay, Harry's voice donned the bitter tone once more. "Oh, and my godfather died in June."

Lennie bit her lip and shot a sideways look at Hermione, who was looking the ground. Ron gave Lennie a look that explained one simple thing; lately, Harry had always had this sort of attitude. Lennie seemed to be put-out by Harry's melancholy manner, but she quickly took the spotlight away from him. "Oh. Er...what about you, Ron?" she said.

Ron gave her a grateful smile. He was glad she had not made a big deal about Harry's declaration, because he knew it would have put him in an even fouler mood. "I come from a really huge family. There's nine—oh...um—eight of us. My mum and dad have been together forever, it seems, but it's good, I suppose, 'cause they never fight or anything. My siblings are great and everything, even though they're so much better than me at everything."

Lennie gave him a sympathetic pat. "You're preaching to the choir."

Ron was completely thrown off by her statement, but decided it must be a Muggle saying and ignored it. "Yeah. Heh. I mostly talk to Fred and George, the twins; they're 2 years older than me. They bug the crap out of me sometimes, but they're okay most of the time. They just opened a joke shop. Mum was in a right state. And I spend some time with my little sister but just 'cause she's 'together' with Harry." Lennie laughed at the slight scowl that appeared on Ron's face and at Harry's sudden grin. "I would have killed anyone else, but Harry's all right." He gave him best friend a friendly punch in the arm and then continued. "Er...yeah, okay, I have a sort of uncontrollable temper, but that's all because of her—"he pointed at Hermione, who rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the smile "—and that stupid cat of hers. And...uh, I'm a prefect." He made a mock disgusted face and shot Hermione a grin. "Basically...okay, you know that opposite polarities thing?" Lennie nodded, anticipating what he was going to say before he said it. "Yeah, well, I'm Hermione's opposite polarity." Everyone laughed and Hermione just shook her head.

"Is that true?" Lennie asked. Hermione nodded, looking somehow pleased.

"Oh, and one other thing," Ron said, holding up a finger. "I could live off sweets and chocolate."

Lennie's eyes lit up. "Oh, my God, me too! I am completely addicted to any sort of sweets! It's great, though, because I have the perfect metabolism for it."

Ron sniggered. "Yeah, me too. I'd probably refuse to live if I was allergic to chocolate or something."

Lennie laughed. "Couldn't have said it better myself."

"Honestly, that's why you two won't have any teeth by the time you're thirty," Hermione said, sounding disapproving and amused at the same time. "I've always told both of you."

"Yeah, but that's just because your parents are bloody _dentists_," Ron said.

Everyone sniggered.

"What about you, Hermione? What have you been up to?" Lennie asked.

"Oh, the same thing. I haven't changed at all, Lennie," Hermione said. "I'm still a bookworm—"(to which Ron responded, "That's the understatement of the year.") "—and always finishing my work on time. I'm always trying to make these two boys learn that, more often than not, I'm right. Ron here really thinks he can outsmart me sometimes. So, really, there's nothing interesting going on." Harry and Ron exchanged looks, knowing that Hermione meant, "There's nothing interesting going on that doesn't involve magic."

"Aw, come on, Hermione, you always have some sort of new project you're working on!" Lennie said, giving her friend a knowing smile.

"Er...I've been trying to learn how to knit," she said. Which of course set off Harry and Ron into a fit of giggles, which Hermione just dismissed as, "Simple minds have simple pleasures."

A few minutes later, they stood in front of the large building decorated with neon signs bearing names of restaurants and stores: the shopping centre. It was a pretty magnificent building, with glass panels surrounding the walkways and small, decorative trees in small clusters throughout the place. Many people walked around, chatting animatedly and holding paper and plastic bags brimming with merchandise. Ron let his lopsided grin make its way onto his face as Lennie said, "Welcome to our shopping centre, gentlemen."

**END POV**

For the second consecutive night, Ron lay awake. This time, however, he was not mesmerized by the constellations dotting the ceiling above his bed. This time, his thoughts were occupied by the events of the day, one that had been more delightful than he could have imagined.

Never being to a Muggle place like the shopping centre, he had kept wandering around, gazing at everything in wonder. He'd walk up to common things like a water fountain where people bent down to drink, then point at it and say, "The things they come up with!" Harry and Hermione had constantly been dragging him away before the Muggle passerby gave him any more weird looks. Lennie had merely laughed and thought he was saying things like that on purpose, and commented on how funny his "random" statements were. Ron knew how relieved his best friends were that they wouldn't have to cook up a shaky explanation for his strange behavior.

But that was the least of it; marveling at the Muggle things that he wasn't familiar with was nowhere near the highlight of the day. After he had grown somewhat accustomed to the Muggle environment, he had started to join in on the fun. Lennie had pointed out the stores that she liked and disliked, giving them short explanations about each one. Hermione was subjective when it came to the make-up shops, and that was no surprise.

"Honestly, _why _would they want to throw so much paint on themselves? Make-up is commercial and another reason for the whaling industry to continue. Then there are the people who wear make-up. All they achieve is becoming a slave to make-up, and the one day they don't wear any, they feel ugly. Besides, it's just another example of how everyone conforms. What's the point of being just like everyone else?" she said as they passed a store full of giggling girls fighting to find a good place to stand in front of the mirror.

Lennie laughed and said, "Hermione, you haven't changed one bit. But I agree. Well, my arguments are nowhere near as heated as yours but, you're right, make-up just makes people feel that their natural appearances aren't good enough. I don't bother with make-up, simply because I don't like it."

"And you don't need it," Ron added. Harry nodded and Lennie gave them grateful smiles.

As the day passed by, the group talked more and more. Sometimes, Ron would be talking enthusiastically with Lennie about their favorite hobbies and their preferred types of sweets (they had a lot in common) while Hermione kept trying to persuade Harry to go into a bookstore because "Muggle reading is just as important!" Then they would switch; Harry would talk to Lennie about sports (he kept the topic on football, of course, since he couldn't talk about Quidditch) and Ron would argue with Hermione about the restaurants throughout the shopping centre, which Hermione considered to be "greasy and unhealthy," contrasting sharply with Ron's idea of how tasty everything looked and smelled.

Lennie overheard their argument and suggested they buy chips, which Ron had never heard of. Harry was very keen to Lennie's suggestion; Hermione, on the other hand, wrinkled her nose. Lennie and Harry ignored her obvious objection and bought the food nonetheless. Lennie gave Ron some of her chips and he was immediately hooked. He shot Hermione more than one disbelieving look when she refused to eat them.

The best part of the day at the shopping centre was the Picture Booth Incident. Lennie had proposed that they take a few pictures in the small booth near the place where they bought the chips. This idea seemed to appeal to Hermione, who divided them up into different groups so that everyone would have a picture with everyone. Ron grinned as he remembered the event.

Trying not to make the bed creak, he sat up and picked up his copy of the pictures that was lying on the bedside table. There were six pictures in all, and they were all just as great—and funny.

First, there was Hermione and Lennie. It was the only normal one. The two girls were sitting together, smiling happily at the camera. Their eyes were shining and you could tell how ecstatic they were to be around each other again.

Next was the picture of Harry with Lennie. They were both winking at the camera, pointing their index fingers with a very sly manner that gave them the aspect of two very fun-loving friends.

Then came Ron's picture with Lennie. She had her head on her left shoulder, facing the camera, with her lips pursed. She looked cute. Ron was back to back with her, holding his head with his hands, looking like a giddy schoolgirl.

Harry and Hermione's picture was next. Harry had his hands around Hermione's neck, pretending to choke her, while Hermione let her tongue hang out, looking very much like a strangled person.

The next picture was Harry and Ron's. Ron was wearing Harry's glasses, making his eyes unfocused. Harry had his index finger stuffed prominently up his nose, looking simply enticed by the aspect of picking his nose.

Finally came the picture of Ron and Hermione. Hermione had her hands covering Ron's eyes. Ron had turned his arms back and used his hands to squish Hermione's cheeks, giving her a very puffy face.

Ron grinned at the picture. He couldn't decide which he liked better. He loved Lennie's pose in the picture with him. He couldn't help laughing at Harry picking his nose. And he very much liked staring at Hermione's eyes shining in her picture with Lennie.

He put the set of pictures back on the bedside table and lay down. Pulling the covers over his body, he closed his eyes and decided one thing. With places like the shopping centre and people like Lennie, Muggle life wasn't half bad.

A/n: Well, that's it. This chapter didn't have anything important really, but the next one definitely will. Again, guys, I want to remind you that what I write is not always what it seems, so don't assume what seems obvious, because you'll be surprised later. Or maybe that's a good thing...? I don't think this story will be longer than maybe 8, 9, or 10 chapters, but I still have to make up my mind. A big, special shoutout to Hannah, whom I had tons of fun chatting with and hope to do so regularly. Now...REVIEW!!!


	5. Talking it Out

A/N: Well, I didn't get many reviews for the last chapter, and that was pretty upsetting, but I think it wasn't a very interesting one (trust me, the reason it was in there was for character development…argh, writing is complicated). This one, however, I am very proud of, and I hope I'll get more reviews for it. I really don't want to get discouraged and leave this story behind like I did with Confessions of Two Hearts. Anyway, I hope you like this chapter as much as I do! It is Ron's birthday today (yes, I'm that much of a nerd, w00t) and maybe you guys could take this update as an extra treat. Maybe. Just read and review! Oh, and about 3 months left till Prisoner of Azkaban! ^_^

Disclaimer: After years of relentless work, I am no closer to owning the franchise…it is still in the hands of the brilliant JK Rowling. 

**~*NSH*~**

Chapter 5: Talking It Out 

            Over the course of the next four days, Lennie spent a fair amount of time at the Grangers' house. Harry had taken a great liking to her personality after their outing to the mall. She rather reminded him of Ron, in more aspects than one. And Ron, apparently, was enjoying the time they were spending with her. Harry would have expected him to have trouble with two girls who so very obviously sparked his interest, but Ron was handling it well. 

            Harry wasn't sure what to think of Ron's idea of Lennie. He was sure it must be different than the one he had, that of a fun-loving girl who was overjoyed to see her childhood friend. But he didn't think it could be quite anything like Ron's idea of Hermione. Harry had been aware of Ron and Hermione's relationships—the friendly one and the one that was bubbling just beneath the surface, the one his redheaded friend was too thick to notice. He'd never been one to be all for it. No, there were times when he told himself he was imagining things, that Ron and Hermione could never think about being more than friends. He knew this happened because he didn't like the idea of being a third wheel, shoved off to the side. It had happened the summer before their fifth year and his anger had been astounding. He hated that they were spending time together—and enjoying each other's company—without him, mostly because he felt alone enough as it was. And the way he had treated them because of this had been regrettable…most of the time, anyway. So he really didn't know how he would ever be able to handle a relationship that exceeded one of comfortable friends.

            But he knew it was there, even when he told himself it wasn't. Hell, the whole world had known for the longest time, except for Ron himself, of course. To him, it had been clear since their fourth year, as it had for most everyone that suspected it. Others claimed to have seen it as early as third year (Ginny said it had been obvious, the way they both had been so melancholy during their fight) and even second year (this was Fred and George, Love Doctors themselves). Harry wasn't sure when Ron had finally caught on, but he knew that Ron had wised up by now. And honestly, Harry couldn't see anything more logical. 

Before fourth year, he had the distinct impression that everyone expected him—the "hero"—to be with Hermione—the "heroine." This never really seemed like much of a good reason to expect two friends to be more than friends. He'd always thought it was kind of a stupid idea, really. He'd been angered by the fact that everyone had overlooked Ron, like he wasn't part of their team. So everyone had always thought that Potter and Granger were bound to end up together. But after the colossal argument after the Yule Ball, people were eyeing Ron and Hermione differently. And Harry had found it sort of amusing, at times, because they were both so painfully obvious. There'd been plenty of times when a sideways glance at Ron in History of Magic told him that the youngest Weasley boy was staring at his own female best friend as she energetically wrote down notes on goblin rebellions and giant wars. Hermione was more composed, but she had her cases. Whenever Ron shot her a hidden compliment, she wouldn't keep the grin off her face. So that had been funny, watching them deny anything was there and then showing it so clearly for the whole world to see. Harry even believed that they suited each other well; they balanced each other out and obviously had no problem spending time together.

He had been slightly taken aback when he saw Ron so enthusiastic with Lennie. He'd noticed instances when Hermione would look stung for a few seconds, a small scowl taking shape on her face, but then she's shake her head and grin and return to the conversation as if nothing had happened. But he knew she must be confused; progress with Ron had been happening—rather slowly, true, but it was there nonetheless. And now she must feel like she was losing her grip on things. Harry expected Hermione to feel somewhat flustered; she always had things under control.

            He hadn't really expected to see Ron troubled. But apparently, he hadn't been the only one noticing Hermione's quick moments of discomfort. On the sixth day of their stay, Hermione had left early in the morning with Lennie. Ron had been curious to know what they were up to, but Lennie flashed him a smile, waved her hand, and said, "We _are _girls, you know. We need our own girl time." Hermione would be spending the night at Lennie's house and then returning to spend a full day with the boys. 

            The two boys spent the day watching television (Ron couldn't get enough of it—every few minutes he'd shake his head and mutter, "Wicked…") and eating the junk food Hermione had provided with disapproval. It was a nice relief from all the work they'd been doing in school, especially for Ron, who was up to his eyeballs with homework, the DA, Quidditch, _and _prefect duties. He was learning to juggle it better (maybe because his Quidditch skills were more honed than the previous year), but Harry knew he appreciated the break.

            At one point in their lazy afternoon, Ron brought up a most curious conversation. Harry almost laughed when he asked the initial question, but decided not to because it might hurt his friend's ego.

            They had been sitting in front of the telly, flipping through channels. For a few minutes, Ron had been shifting around on the couch, opening his mouth and then deciding to close it. Harry chose to let him come out with it instead of asking him about it. He finally did. "Harry, mate…what's kissing like?"

            Harry stopped flipping channels and stared blankly at the bright television screen, watching some children's cartoon prance around singing about cleaning and friendship and whatnot. He wasn't sure what to say as an answer to such a question. So he plainly said, "Er…" and tried to think.

            Ron sniggered. "I know your experience with Cho was…wet"—he laughed again—"but, you know, it must have been more than that. Right?"

            Harry smirked. Trust Ron to find a funny side to the matter. "Er, well…I dunno. I wasn't really thinking about much when she did it, except how humiliating it was that she was just standing there crying and—and trying to—you know—and I didn't say anything, just kind of stood there like an idiot."

            Ron looked puzzled. 

            Harry shook his head. "It's not like I had time to think anyway, 'cause one moment she was just standing in front of me, crying and talking about Cedric, and the next thing I know…"

            "What?"

            "You know, you're not very imaginative, are you?" Harry said, flushing a bit. He didn't really want to give Ron details. Ron shook his head, apparently waiting for Harry to explain. "Well…it was more like I was touching her mouth with mine."   

            Ron snorted.

            "_What?_" Harry said indignantly, mentally cursing himself for his choice of words.

            Ron waved a hand and said, "Never mind. So, what, kissing is rubbish?"

            Harry felt his cheeks redden some more. "Uh…with Cho it was. But it's not all that bad…" He let his voice trail off. He really did not want to have this conversation, especially since he was referring to "good kiss" with Ron's own sister.

            But Ron didn't understand. "Wait, wait, wait. First you said it's just—not very exciting? And then you said it's okay. So—what?"

            Poor boy. He was utterly perplexed. Harry ran a hand through his messy hair and said, "Um, well, I guess if you really like the person, then it's better, and if they're not crying and all."

            "But you liked Cho."

            Good point. "Er...well, maybe I didn't like her quite as much as I thought. Or maybe there just wasn't any…spark."

            "Spark?"

            "For the love of Merlin, Ron! Spark! You and Hermione have spark! That's spark! Don't act oblivious." Harry said this all very quickly and as soon as he did, he avoided looking at Ron, although he was very sure he must resemble a stunned goldfish.

            "Me and Hermione…?" 

            Harry shot Ron a Look, then rolled his eyes. "Whatever. The point is, it's nice if nobody is blubbering and if you decide that, yes, it's a kiss, not that she's trying to get as close to you as possible."

            Ron looked as if he wanted to pursue the subject of him and Hermione a bit more. But then he said, "Oh." And he held his chin with his hands and sat, deep in thought, for a few moments. Harry gave him one last look and settled back, changing channels again.

            When Ron spoke, his voice sounded choked. "Er…you probably didn't want to talk about kissing Gin with me, huh?" 

            Harry looked around at him. Ron looked slightly nauseous. Then Harry laughed. He said, "It's all right." Ron looked relieved.

            "So…basically, kissing doesn't seem as wet if you really really fancy someone?" Ron asked tentatively, and he looked like he was holding his breath waiting for the answer.

            Harry chuckled. "That's right. It doesn't really feel very wet at all."

~*~

            Maybe it was the talk with Ron, but Harry had been struck with a longing to see Ginny. He'd only been away from her for a few days, but he already missed her radiant and enjoyable company. Luckily, the Grangers' fireplace was connected to the Weasleys' (Mr. Weasley, naturally, had pulled some strings), and Harry deeply appreciated this. He had feared that he would have to be escorted by a group of members of the Order again. But maybe now that the prophecy was gone, it didn't matter quite as much. 

            Whatever it may be, Harry made his way to the Burrow that night. Ron had seemed somewhat disappointed that he was choosing to leave him alone (and he was somewhat apprehensive of Hermione's father, for a reason he never wished to discuss—although, of course, it was rather obvious) but when Harry had mentioned the prospect of having the telly and candy to himself, he chose not to object. Harry decided to only go for a short while, because he didn't want to seem rude and it had been previously decided that they would spend Christmas Day at the Burrow. So it was that night, shortly after dinner, that Mrs. Weasley gave a cry of glee when she saw Harry fly out of her fireplace, covered in soot. 

            "Oh, Harry, dear, what a wonderful surprise!" she said, as she wrapped her arms around him and gave him her famous bone-crushing hug. Harry grinned despite the fact that he could hardly breathe in Mrs. Weasley's embrace. When she pulled away, he was glad to see that the color had returned to her face and she seemed to be eating well; he had hated seeing her condition during the summer, first with Mr. Weasley being fired, and then with Bill's death.

Harry nodded. "I wanted to stop by to say hi. I won't be staying too long."

"Well, you can still have a bite to eat, come on." Mrs. Weasley beamed.

            "Er…sorry, Mrs. Weasley, I just ate and—"

            "Harry!"

            His sentence was interrupted by the content greeting issuing from Ginny, who was a blur flying down the stairs and straight into Harry's arms. His grin widened as he wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face in her hair. He could detect a hint of her lavender-scented shampoo, and immediately knew exactly why he had decided to come.

            Mrs. Weasley seemed to be restraining herself from cooing at them. Ginny must have sensed it because she grabbed Harry's hand, said, "We'll be upstairs, Mum," and tugged Harry away towards the stairs.

            On the stairs, Harry climbed at her side and said, "Upstairs, eh?"

            Ginny glanced at him, her eyes shining, and replied, "Oh, yeah."

            Pushing the door to her room open, they both stepped inside. The window immediately caught Harry's eye. It was beautiful; the sill was covered in icicles and the glass fogged up and obscured with flecks of snow.

            Ginny noticed him looking out the window to the dark, star strewn sky. Snow could be seen lightly falling. She walked over and looked out herself. "It's been snowing like mad around here. It's nice, though. And at least in here it's warm." She smiled. 

            "Yeah. There's no snow falling in London, at the Grangers.' It _is _nice. Sort of…romantic, isn't it?" Harry said, shifting his view from the window to the girl standing in front of him. Her smile had taken a mischievous glint not unlike Fred and George's. She leaned close to him and said, "Very," her breath warm against his face. He suddenly realized how very cold everything around him was, except Ginny, and so he pulled her even closer. Ginny closed the distance between them and Harry soon forgot about the window and snow and everything else. 

            How could anyone explain this? It was bliss…it was wonderful, just wonderful, and so much more…

            He let Ginny deepen the kiss with no objections; he loved the way that she would just ease into it, allow him to revel in how marvelous it was to have her lips against his, and just when he was growing used to it, she would change it and the process would start all over again. He traced tiny circles along her back with his fingers as they kissed; he'd let his hands become embedded in her hair; he moved his hands to her face and cupped her chin, immediately deepening the kiss some more. With the tips of his fingers, he felt a vibration in her throat, a small sound of satisfaction that made him adore her even more.

            No, it couldn't be explained.

            After a while, Ginny pulled away and said, "I already miss you."

            Harry grinned and released her, backing up to sit on the bed and look around. "What have you been doing?"

            Ginny groaned. "Cleaning. I think it's Mum's hobby. She certainly does it when she's bored and even when she's not. So ever since I got home, she's been sending me around cleaning the house. Of course, it's already pretty clean anyway, but still. I have to degnome the garden every two days. I skipped it today 'cause my shoulders already ache." She sat next to him and flashed him a smile when he started rubbing the spot she'd indicated on her shoulder. She gazed at him affectionately for a few seconds before continuing. "Mum's a nutter sometimes. She even made me clean Ron's room the other day. Merlin's beard; Ron could grow an entire swamp under his bed before he decided that it ought to be cleaned. I think it was frog spawn left over from some summer or maybe it was his dead Puffskein…whatever it was, it was disgusting. Of course, there was a plus to cleaning his room…"

            "What?" asked Harry, curious, although from the way Ginny was grinning malevolently he had an inkling it was about Hermione.

            She sniggered. "Well, he keeps that stupid planner under his pillow. You know, the one Hermione gave him for Christmas. Yeah, it's stuffed under there and he's obviously looked at it every waking moment of his life because already the spine is wearing out. If Ron ever had a _Hogwarts, A History_, it's that thing."

            Harry laughed. He decided to ask her opinion on his best friends. "Well, what do you think? About Ron and Hermione, I mean? Anything changed lately?"

            Ginny gave him an are-you-blind look. "It's painfully obvious that the two are madly in love with each other. I already told you that I think they have been ever since your second year. Lately…well, Ron finally decided to think last year. Now that they both know that they like the other, maybe they'll decide to actually _tell _each other. But I'm starting to think that Ron's greatest fear isn't spiders anymore."

            "Aww, you should give him some credit, Gin!" Harry said; he laughed nonetheless.

            "Well, it's true. Sometimes I don't understand why he was put in Gryffindor. He can barely handle her grinning at him without his ears turning into lobsters; I can imagine him going mad with nervousness by just telling her he fancies her. Think of when he actually starts kissing her, how it'll be."

            Harry made a face. "Okay, some of us would prefer to keep our dinners tucked safely in our stomachs. That image isn't the greatest one."

            "Harry!" Ginny said, slapping his hands of her shoulders. "Come on, they'll look pretty adorable together!"

            "I don't think I would use the word 'adorable,' exactly," Harry said, sniggering. "Besides, I doubt it'll happen any time soon."

            Ginny looked confused and maybe even concerned. "What do you mean?"

            Harry shrugged. "Well, there's this girl we met over there. She was Hermione's friend in Muggle school. She's great; she has a lot of things in common with Ron. And he's sort of been…neglecting Hermione, I guess, 'cause he's taken an interest in Lennie."

            Ginny rolled her eyes. "Ron knows how to get himself into a lot of shit. Well, he better wise up soon or I'll have to knock some sense into him!" She was quiet for a moment and then said, "This girl…_you _don't like her, do you?"

            Harry pretended to be seriously considering this. "Well…what do you think?"

            She didn't answer; she just leaned in and kissed him again, long and hard. She was just starting to lie down, bringing him with her, when they heard Mrs. Weasley's voice ringing up through the staircase.

            "Ginny! Visitor!"

            The Weasley girl broke away from Harry and dropped her head down onto her bed. Harry, leaning over her, gave her a questioning look. Ginny muttered, "Not now!"

            "Huh?"

            Ginny sighed and gently pushed Harry away. "Come on, her visits aren't usually quick. I don't mind her, really, it's just…now…"

            Harry furrowed his eyebrows. It sounded like she was talking about—

            "Luna!" Ginny said, feigning delight when she saw the blonde girl standing near the door chatting spiritedly with Mrs. Weasley. "Hi!"

            "Hello. Oh, hello, Harry," Luna greeted, glancing over at Harry who was standing behind Ginny. He noticed she was carrying a rather large pie in her hands, which Mrs. Weasley took just seconds later.

            "Thank you, dear, it's smells wonderful," Mrs. Weasley said, giving Luna a grateful smile.

            Luna returned it. "Not a trouble at all, Molly." She looked at Ginny and Harry and said, "Father makes the most delicious Billiwig pies." When Ginny and Harry exchanged nervous glances, she said, "Oh, it's not as bad as it sounds. It's quite tasty, actually; very sweet. And the effects are wholly fun."

            "Effects?" asked Harry, although he couldn't help but smile at Luna's newest fixation. 

            Luna nodded her head vigorously. "It makes those who eat it giddy. Great fun, especially to those who don't know it does that." Having said this, she glided past the two and sank dreamily into the chair next to the fireplace. 

            Harry could tell Ginny was upset by her visit; she was interrupting their time alone. But he didn't regard Luna with the same air everyone else seemed to reserve for her; on the contrary, sometimes he found himself wishing that he could be more like her, in the sense that she really didn't care what anyone said or thought about her. So, in ways, he respected her. He gave Ginny a kiss on the cheek (Luna was looking at them vaguely, as if just looking at them to have something to look at) and Ginny reluctantly followed him to sit on the couch in front of Luna's chair.

            "So," Harry said, glancing between a somewhat disgruntled looking Ginny to a silent Luna. He wished he had come another day. 

            "You're staying with Muggles for the holidays, aren't you, Harry?" Luna said, and he couldn't tell whether she was interested or opting for conversation. 

            "Er…yeah. Hermione's parents," he answered.

            "Are they as skeptical of magic as she is of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack?" she asked, although there was a hint of a smile on her face and no sign of resentment in her voice.

            Harry gave a weak laugh. "No, actually, they—they understand magic and all…they're very supportive of Hermione." He glanced at Ginny out of the corner of his eye; she was tracing patterns on the arm of the couch and seemed uninterested in the conversation.

            Luna nodded dimly and took her eyes off him. She looked distractedly around the room, her eyes as wide as ever. Ginny heaved a great sigh but Luna didn't seem to notice it.

            The awkward silence was disturbed by Mrs. Weasley stomping into the room. "Virginia Weasley!" Ginny whipped around when she heard her mother call her name. She didn't sound happy. 

            Ginny gave Harry a quick glance and said, "Yes, Mum?"

            "Did you simply forget to degnome the garden? Or was it that there was too much dirt accumulated in your ears that prevented you from hearing me ask you to do it?!" Mrs. Weasley asked, staring down at Ginny with her hands on her hips.   
            "Mum…can't I just do that tomorrow?"

            "Tomorrow there will be more gnomes! Besides, you have things to do tomorrow. I want you to go out there and get that garden clean. Those tricky little blighters, they've already started stealing my potatoes…Go!" Mrs. Weasley said; she turned on her heel and stormed into the kitchen, tying her apron furiously behind her back as she went.

            Ginny scowled. "I'll be right back," she muttered, and with that pushed herself up off the couch and stomped out to the garden, slamming the door behind her.

            Luna was smiling faintly. "She reminds me of Ronald. Actually, they both do."

            Harry gave her a small smile but didn't say anything. 

            Neither of them did for a while. Harry tried staring at his hands to pass the time; when it didn't work, he tried watching the fire crackling merrily among the wood. But he was painfully aware of the loud ticking of the small Muggle clock on the wall. The sound seemed much too loud and pronounced the silence that was present. 

            When Luna spoke, Harry jumped slightly, startled. "Sad, isn't it?" she said in a small voice, studying her right hand.

            Harry looked up. "What is?"

            She kept looking at her hand for a moment but finally looked up at him. Then she stood up, walked briskly over to the couch, and plopped herself down beside him. "It's sad that there's a war coming."

            The silence rang even louder than before. Harry wasn't quite sure what to say.

            Luna held her right hand out in front of her, and Harry noticed a red and gold band around her ring finger. He gave her a questioning look and she answered. "It's a ring. I made it myself. I bought a phoenix feather in the apothecary in Diagon Alley and made it. It signifies my place in the Order, which I've yet to assume." The faint smile appeared on her face again.

            "You know about the Order?"

            Luna nodded. "Dumbledore told me in June. He said I'd helped enough to deserve to know." She looked at the phoenix feather ring and said, "I want to help some more." She looked over at Harry, "You know, Ginny told me that her brother died. I suppose you knew. I hadn't found out; I don't read the _Prophet _much."

            Harry nodded. "Death Eater attack…"

            "Yes. Dreadful…but there's more to come." She looked away. "There's no real way to stop them, is there? It's just, defend yourself when it happens." 

            "I guess so." Harry thought for a moment and then added, "Thank you." 

            Luna raised her eyebrows. "For what?"

            Harry shrugged mildly. "We needed everyone we had that night. You were willing to help even if it meant getting hurt."

            Luna looked at him for a few minutes after he said that. It wasn't exactly as uncomfortable as it would have seemed; it wasn't like she was just staring at him, but like she was trying to read any meaning behind those words. Harry hadn't really purposefully put in any meaning, but there was definitely one thought behind the statement: Sirius.

            "Do you feel any better about him—your godfather?"

            Her question hit Harry by surprise. He couldn't understand how she had known that he had had Sirius in mind. He was also surprised that she had been bold enough to bring him up; no one really had since the summer.

            He looked at her. For some reason, he suddenly noticed that her eyes weren't gray, like he had thought, but the most peculiar shade of blue. "I don't know," he said truthfully. "I miss him. He was basically my father." And he had no trouble saying this to her, she being a bit of a stranger! But there was something about the way Luna had asked the question that told him she understood without much explanation. "Well…sometimes I think about that day. I didn't stop to think; I just wanted him to be safe. I had a mirror, a two way mirror, that he had given me for Christmas. He wanted to use it so we could communicate. I never opened it, until after…if I had used that mirror, I would have known he was fine, still at home. But I let my mind get away with me. And this damn scar…" He snatched at his forehead, wishing he could just wipe the scar off, pick it off its place on his forehead. 

            Luna was looking at her hands. He couldn't read the expression on her face, but she didn't look quite as faraway as usual. Her long hair fell in waves around her shoulders as she sat and took in all that Harry had said. All of a sudden, she looked up and said, "You wish you were someone else." It was like she was asking a question but at the same time, she said it resolutely. Harry nodded. 

            And then she did something no one had ever done before.

            She lifted her hand from where it sat on her lap, the hand adorned with her phoenix feather ring, and brought her fingers gently to the scar on Harry's forehead. She didn't ask him if she could, she didn't ask if he would mind. She just did. It was such a simple gesture, harmless and delicate. But it was something that no one had ever dared do, and Harry wasn't entirely sure why. And as she held her hand lightly on the accursed scar, she said, "Don't."

            Harry almost didn't understand, completely having forgotten what she had said before she touched his scar. But when he did manage to remember, and he connected it with her last statement, he felt fascination by Luna's sincerity. And it was a moment he remembered for as long as he lived.

            Then Luna lowered her hand and the world kept turning and normality settled once more. Her eyes were once again a hazy gray and silence descended all over again. And the scar remained upon his forehead, and he was still the person he was minutes before, seconds before.

            Ginny disturbed the silence (not an awkward one, but more of a pensive one) when she returned to the living room, her hands dirty and snowflakes embedded in her vibrant hair. She looked at the pair sitting on the couch, both thoughtful and hushed.

            "Everything all right?" she asked, her eyes lingering on Harry.

            Luna smiled her dreamy smile. "Always is," she answered. 

            Harry knew Ginny was still watching him, because he was so still. He suddenly thought that it could be quite late, and when he glanced at the clock, he saw it was almost nine o'clock. 

            "Gin, I should go," he said, standing and walking over to where she stood.

            "What? But you just got here!"

            "No, I've been here almost two hours, and I told Hermione's mum I'd only be away for a bit." He took her hands. "Sorry, Gin, but I'll make it up to you when I come on Christmas Day."

            Ginny nodded but she still looked disappointed. "All right. If those two idiots make any improvements, you'll let me know, right?"

            "Wouldn't think a second before telling you."

            Ginny gave him a small smile and kissed him lightly on the lips. "Then I'll see you then." 

            Harry nodded. "Say 'bye to your mum for me." Ginny nodded and let go of his hands. Harry turned to Luna, who was staring absentmindedly around the room again. He knew she felt his gaze on her, because she turned her eyes toward him. "I'll see you soon, Luna," he said.

            She smiled softly. "Good-bye, Harry."

            And he turned away into the fireplace. He took a handful of Floo Powder from the flowerpot on the mantelpiece, threw it into the fire, and waited for the flames to turn green. He watched them for a moment, a vivid green that mirrored his eyes. Then he turned and gave one last look at the two girls standing behind him; one, with a loving look in her eyes and snow in her hair, the other, as distant as ever with inexplicable wisdom in her gray-blue eyes. And he realized how many people he'd met and how each had affected his life, and couldn't for the life of him decide which of the two watching him had influenced him the most.

            It didn't matter; he appreciated them both.

            And then he turned to the green flames and said, "Hermione's house!" and he was gone.

~*~

            "You know, they say practice makes perfect, but I don't think it applies to this game," Hermione said vaguely, prying her knight towards Harry's bishop. 

            Harry chuckled. It was the morning after his visit to the Burrow, and he and Hermione had decided on a game of chess while Ron showered, since it usually turned out to be quite a lengthy event. Hermione had promised the boys to spend the entire day with them on account of her absence because of Lennie. Harry had awoken quite early, his mind still on the events of the previous night. Hermione woke up a few hours later, and Ron even later than her. 

            So now Ron had just stumbled his way into the shower (Harry had to commend him for doing so; his eyes were barely open) and it would be a long wait until he came out.

            "I doubt it's that, Hermione. You're just dreadful at this game, that's all," Harry explained, putting her knight in danger with the bishop.

            Hermione made a frustrated noise. "This stupid knight won't work with me!"

            Harry grinned. The black knight was giving Hermione a hurt glare, and she was glaring right back. The little knight grudgingly pointed at the castle that would prove to be its savior from Harry's bishop, and Hermione gave him a grateful look before moving the castle in front of the knight. She gave Harry a smug look.

            He decided to leave that angle of the game alone for a bit; she'd forget about it sooner or later and give up her knight, willingly or not. The game proceeded with silent concentration, Hermione holding her chin with both hands, eyes darting around the chessboard, trying desperately to win for once.

            Naturally, it was obvious when she suddenly lost her concentration. She had apparently glanced at her knight, threatened by Harry's bishop, and she put her hands in her lap and looked away for a moment, out the door of her room. Harry had been about to ask if everything was all right when she spoke.

            "Do you…this is a bit prying to ask, but—do you love Ginny?"

            Harry raised his eyebrows. Her question was about as difficult to answer as Ron's question about kissing. Trying to think, he said, "Er…what do you mean?"

            She looked at him and said slowly, "You had a crush on Cho, and that ended fairly fast. But you and Ginny are still really close…so, do you love her?"

            Harry was under the impression that his mouth was hanging slightly open. It wasn't very typical to have a conversation like this with Hermione; actually, it wasn't typical at all. Hermione usually stuck to facts and school, to the Wizarding world and the people in it. But it didn't go as far as emotions; Hermione wasn't one to customarily display vulnerability. Harry wasn't sure how to answer, so he decided to go with a simple, honest answer. "Well, I love a lot of people." 

            Hermione was looking at the floor, her index finger in her mouth. She was chewing on her nail absentmindedly, something Harry had never seen her do. She was obviously thinking of something on a much deeper level, and he was slowly catching on to what it was. When she didn't say anything, he said softly, "It's…complicated. I love…the Weasleys, and—and you and Ron. And I loved Sirius." He was suddenly glad he was talking to Hermione about this and not Ron; it would have been awkward to admit he loved both of them. Hermione would understand, he knew she would. He waited for her to respond and she still didn't. So he added, "It's a love like how you love your parents, you know?"

            She nodded slowly. Then she shook her head. "I understand what you're saying but…well, you know what I mean!" She looked at him in exasperation and he was somewhat startled.

            "Oh."

            "Harry!"

            "Er…I'm not sure, to tell you the truth." And he was being honest. "How am I supposed to know? I've only ever really had a relationship with two girls, and one of those was a disaster!"

            Hermione looked a little guilty. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry." Then she went back to cradling her chin in her hands and staring intently at the chessboard. Harry gave her a nervous glance and then picked up the game where they had left off.

            But they hadn't been playing for long when she said, "How do you feel when you're around Ginny?"

            Harry tried his best not to roll his eyes. "Hermione, would you mind telling me _why_ you're asking all these questions?"

            Hermione watched him for a second, then averted her eyes to the chessboard and said, "Just…for knowing."

            He couldn't help but laugh. It was very ironic for her to say that. "You never research things 'just for knowing;' come on, I've been your friend for five years now. When you want to find out something, you apply it to whatever you're studying. What's the subject of this research?" He couldn't keep the hint of amusement out of his voice.

            All that he achieved was a glare from Hermione. "Look," she said, and it sounded like she was trying—and failing—to cover something up, "I'm curious, and that's the only reason I want to know this."

            "Or maybe it has something to do with something…or someone…"

            This earned him a sharp kick in the shins from her. "I don't know _what _you're saying."

            "Then why'd you kick me?"

            He thought she would hit him again. But she didn't. She laughed. Then she shook her head and said, "Of course…how I couldn't have expected…she was _bound _to tell…"

            "Hermione." She stopped muttering to herself when he said her name. He smiled and said, "I don't think Ron made it clear enough last year. When you do that muttering thing, we have NO idea what you're saying."

            "Okay," she said. Then she chewed her nail for a bit, apparently thinking of what to say. When she came up with a suitable explanation for her muttering, she said, "I shouldn't be surprised that you're making insinuations. You spent too much time with Ginny, I knew she'd tell you sometime, I just—didn't really expect it, you see?"

            "What?"

            She shook her head. "She told you about…it. Didn't she?"

            "About Ron?"

            "HARRY!"

            "_What?_"

            "You know he's in the other room," she muttered, glancing around in a slight panic.

            Harry laughed. "And you say he's thick…well, he is, but sometimes you're pretty stupid yourself."

            "Excuse me?"

            "I didn't have to have Ginny tell me that you like him. Everybody knows."

            Hermione blinked rather blankly. It was apparently a great surprise to find out that the entire school was placing bets on how soon she and Ron would "get together." She furrowed her eyebrows and said, "Do you mean to say…Ginny told everyone?!"

            "God, no!" Harry said, and laughed again. "It's just that everyone can tell."     

            "Oh."

            He grinned. "So this is about him." He waited for her to nod; when she reluctantly did, he plunged on. "When I'm around Ginny, I stop thinking about what to do and what not to do so I'll look good for her. I'll just do whatever comes. Around her, I can say anything and I know she won't tease me or make fun of me or anything. I can talk to her about a lot of things. It's just a different feeling."

            Hermione drank this in while still staring at the chess pieces. Harry assumed they reminded her of Ron. 

            "Hermione?"

            "Hmm?"

            "You should talk to him about it."

            She gave a shaky laugh. "Are you mad? And besides, it's a silly thing, not really very important."

            "No, not at all, since you're trying to figure out if you're in love with him or not, right?"

            "That's not what I'm trying to do."

            "All right, then, fine. I still think you should talk to him."

            "We'll see."

            And they were silent again. Hermione sat thoughtfully, moving her chess pieces aimlessly and letting Harry take them whenever he had the chance. The game was becoming pretty one sided, Harry having most of the black pieces lined up next to each other, all of them grunting and shooting dirty looks at Hermione. It was apparent she wasn't trying anymore, being deep in thought. Still, she never let her guard down on the knight and defended him well with the castle.

            "You know, if you used the technique you're using with the knight and the castle in the whole game, I reckon you would be better," Harry said, laughing a little.

            Hermione grinned. "Thanks."

            And from the way she said it, he knew she was thanking him for more than the chess advice. 

            Harry returned the grin. Then he looked down at the chessboard; he moved the bishop threatening Hermione's knight. She was surprised, but took him with the king nonetheless. Harry glanced at her knight and castle, still sitting side by side on the chessboard. Chuckling, he said, "I think I don't want to finish this game."

            "Why?"

            Harry thought for a moment. "Because it's more interesting this way." He grinned. Hermione laughed.

            And then everything went dark, his scar in unbearable pain, and he dropped to the floor, distinctly hearing Hermione scream.

~*~

A/n: PLEASE REVIEW!!!


	6. Marked

A/n: Sorry this took so long, everyone, but I had a really busy month and a lot on my plate. I was actually pretty stressed out for a while there, but then I had some free time and I wrote this chapter with everyone in mind and how you've all been so patient with me. Hope you like it.

Disclaimer: If I own Harry Potter and its characters, then I am Mrs. Rupert Grint. Ah, the giddiness of it all...

NSH Chapter 6: Marked 

It was sudden and unexpected, and it made Hermione's heart stop beating.

They had been playing a game of chess, and it was turning out to be an event that Hermione was fully planning to forever remember. And as she had smiled at her best friend across the chessboard, she had felt content with what the talk had accomplished: a sense of recognition of what she was to do. She had been overcome with emotion at the way he hadn't pushed her away at a prospect of such a conversation. It had been a nice moment between two friends.

And then he collapsed, and she couldn't think.

Everything went blurry for her, except Harry's unconscious form on the floor, his glasses askew and face screwed up in pain. She drank in his hands clasping his scar and the way he had shaken uncontrollably before he had been still. And the scream that came out of her mouth seemed distant, because she herself was frozen in terror and worry and despair.

Ron.

That registered her into more of a thinking mode. She could figure this out with Ron. They could make this better. Harry would be all right.

He would be all right.

Brusquely wiping her eyes to rid them of the tears that had blurred her vision, she turned away from Harry and dashed out of her room, her sole purpose being to find Ron and help Harry.

Nothing could have frightened her more than this had. The last time Harry had collapsed like this had been at the History of Magic O.W.L.s, and then, like now, she had felt her blood freeze. But it had only been momentary, because a couple of minutes later Harry had been striding out, his hand faintly rubbing his forehead. And she had been worried, but seeing him conscious and aware of himself had helped diminish the worry. But now...it was so terrible. The mere thought of seeing him lying idly on the floor sent more panic to shoot through her veins and rid her of any rational thought.

Finding her way to Ron's room seemed impossible, like the small hallways created a labyrinth that was engulfing her and preventing her from helping Harry. Where was the damn room? Tears sprang into her eyes again as she rammed into room after room...why couldn't she find her way through this house, her own house?

_Think, Hermione, calm down!_

Her fist hit the wall as she felt a few tears slide down her cheeks. She leaned her head against the wall, hearing the sound of her own ragged breathing...breathing, was Harry still breathing? Please let Harry still be breathing.

_Breathe, Hermione, breathe._

She turned and resolutely walked forward. She opened a door to her right without hesitation, and when she caught sight of his red hair through her tears she felt her eyes water even more.

Ron turned, caught by surprise at her sudden entrance. He hastily put on the sleeveless shirt he was holding, his ears tingeing at having her walk in on him shirtless. But she didn't care about that, and he noticed promptly. He let her walk into his arms when he saw she was crying.

"Hermione, what happened?" he asked, his tone full of concern.

She couldn't speak. She just shook her head. Harry! Her mind was screaming out what had happened, but she couldn't make a sound. _Talk!! _But she was overcome with fear and she couldn't do more than shake her head into Ron's chest and feel her eyes welling up steadily.

"Calm down, and tell me what's wrong," Ron said, and his tone was soft but firm.

"H-Harry," Hermione choked. "He—collapsed."

Ron's grip on her slackened. She looked up at him and saw his face grow pale and his eyes darken. His hands remained on her arms and she felt him shaking, although just by looking at him it was impossible to notice. But he was shaking and he looked scared.

"Let's go," he said, and she wiped her eyes and nodded and led the way.

She walked almost automatically, more like her legs were leading and not her mind. Her mind was elsewhere. Her mind still clung to Harry, and the eye of her mind showed him lying still. Were his hands on his scar still? She couldn't remember, she couldn't see...

And then they were there and Ron swore and he turned away for a moment. She saw him looking at the floor (she had to watch him...she could not bear to watch Harry) as if gathering his thoughts. Then he turned back and looked at Harry, and she saw him cringe, as if seeing him there was causing him a sharp pain.

He bent down and looked closely at Harry. Hermione still stood, watching him feel Harry's wrist for a pulse, muttering, "There's a pulse, he's okay..." Hermione's eyes wandered to Harry's face, pale and wincing. _You're not just going to stand here, are you?_ She took a deep breath and knelt down next to Ron. She took Harry's glasses from where they were resting at the end of his nose and placed them on her bedside table.

Ron had his hands over his mouth. He was still looking at Harry.

"What happened?"

Only when he spoke did Hermione realize she had stopped crying. At least she was calm. Her voice was still shaking slightly, though, when she said, "We were talking...just finished a game of chess...and then all of a sudden he grabbed his scar and fell. And he shook a little, for a moment, but then he was still. That's when I went to find you."

Ron nodded, his face solemn. He looked at Harry for another few seconds (he muttered under his breath, "What happened, mate?") and then said, "Come on. Let's just get him on the bed. He'll come to."

The resolution in his voice reassured her, and she nodded. Together, they lifted Harry off the floor and carried him over to her bed. Hermione put him down carefully, as if he would break if set down too hard. Then she felt Ron's hand on her shoulder and turned to see him looking at her in concern.

"He'll be okay," he said. She gave him a shaky smile and nodded. His expression remained solemn, however, as he walked away from her and sat on the small table beside the window. He put his head in his hands and said, "Are _you _okay?"

Hermione considered this for a minute. Then she said, "Yes. I was just a little...shaken. I mean, it reminded me too much of that Thursday in June. You know how he collapsed during the History of Magic O.W.L.? I'm just worried about what it could be. Voldemort could be hurting him somehow, because last time he recovered quickly, but now..." Her voice trailed off.

Ron nodded. "To tell you the truth, you scared the hell out of me."

Hermione felt a pang of guilt. She'd probably made it seem to him like something seriously terrible had happened. "I'm sorry, I just—"

"No, it's all right, I know why you came in like that. You were just a little...hysterical." He looked up at her. She knew she looked tense. He sighed. "Sorry. I'm not really helping, am I?"

Hermione shrugged faintly and looked back at Harry. He was as still as ever. Some color seemed to be slowly rising up his neck. She tried to ignore the beads of sweat that were forming on his forehead. "There's nothing we can do?"

Ron was looking out the window. "No, I don't think so."

"We'll just wait, then," she said, walking slowly away from the bed and sinking into the chair across from him. It was snowing lightly outside, the snow slowly piling onto the yard, where the little snow that was left was already turning a dirty shade of gray. By the afternoon it would be just like Hogsmeade at Christmas.

"I guess that sort of ruins our day, huh?" Ron said distractedly.

"No. Probably not. It's still only morning," she answered, noticing tension between them. He seemed to be avoiding her gaze, looking steadily out the window, only not really seeing anything because his eyes were unfocused.

And they both sat in silence, wondering what could be occurring in the depths of Harry's mind, or, maybe, what was no longer Harry's mind but Voldemort's.

It was always this room, with the fireplace and the shadows and the cold, cold air, the air that made his breath catch in his throat even though he wasn't really there. But then, he _was _there, but he wasn't himself anymore. He didn't have that high-pitched voice, more snakelike than the snake at his feet. He didn't have those long, pale fingers, twirling a long wand. He didn't have that pale face, bone white, that made his scar be licked by invisible flames. But here he did, in this room he did.

And tonight, when his scar had burned to the point where he couldn't stand being conscious anymore and so had fainted so he wouldn't have to feel it—but then he felt it still—, he had arrived at this room, into the tall body with the bone white face and the terrible red eyes. Before him stood two Death Eaters that would have made his real self be overcome with anger, but not here; here, the sight of the two gave him pleasure and pride and disgust.

"Bella." He felt a voice come out of his mouth, but why? Damn this, it wasn't his voice! And then a laugh, and it came from him, but it certainly wasn't his own—although it was directed to him.

The witch standing before him smirked and looked him straight in the eye. More pain shot into his scar as her dark eyes glittered in malice. She knew he was looking at her; she knew she made him more hostile than anything else could. More laughter, this time from him and her, Bellatrix.

"Lucius and I would be _honored_," she drawled, gesturing toward the man beside her with a pale hand. His sharp features were half in shadow, but the malevolence in his demeanor could not be hidden. He, too, looked triumphant at knowing who partially resided within the Dark Lord at that moment.

"Certainly. And imagine, Potter knowing there will be an attack, but not knowing where," Malfoy said in his cold voice, all too much like his son's. He smirked and exchanged wickedly gleeful glances with Bellatrix.

"Poor baby Potter, still not over his little godfather's death, that filthy piece of shit who stained the name of my family—he deserved to die," Bellatrix said, in the same cold, mocking voice she had used in the Department of Mysteries. "Little baby Potter won't know how to deal with what's coming."

"We're coming," Harry's high-pitched voice said. "Sweet dreams, Potter."

And then they dissolved.

Yes, the pain was already subsiding. He was searching for the light that would mean open eyes, the real world, not this nightmare. But then, it wasn't a nightmare, it was Voldemort's mind, Voldemort's life, but that in itself was a nightmare...swirling colors, but no light...where was Hermione? Ron?

And then he was standing in front of Hogwarts. But it was not Hogwarts as it should be. This Hogwarts was silhouetted against a dark sky, with the moon to the right and a red star beside it. The lake was illuminated by different flashes of lights, some green and some red, and some different shades of purple and gold. And not only on the lake's surface, but around him lights flew in multiple directions, the magic of many spells traveling across the Hogwarts grounds. There were dark lumps on the grass, groans emitting from some.

Who was he? Glancing down at his hands told him he was himself again, holding his own wand in his lightly bloodstained fingers. He looked towards the Forbidden Forest. Death Eaters were dueling with robed figures—his heart sank, for some reason, at the sight of more than one head of red hair among them.

Then he heard the cold laughter behind him, and he feared he was still in the nightmare. But he spun around and saw that Voldemort was behind him. He was immobile, but cackling and watching Harry with loathing and triumph in his eyes. It was odd, because he looked to be bound by invisible chains; something was locking him down, preventing him from moving. Harry felt the blood in his veins quicken. Why was Voldemort incapacitated but still laughing?

What the hell was this?

"He won't do it, Potter!" Voldemort was yelling in his high voice, and then laughing even more. "He can't do it!"

"Harry..." He heard a soft, panicked voice from behind him, and he turned to find Neville standing quite still before him. His wand was held out, pointed at Harry, and his face was pale. His hand was shaking uncontrollably.

Then something came over him, and although he could not understand what he was saying, he said it nonetheless.

"Just do it, Neville," he said, his voice quiet but still ringing out above the din of explosions around him and Voldemort's mad laughter. "Do it. It'll all be over."

"I c-can't," Neville was saying, his mouth barely moving, his hand shaking even more.

"You have to," Harry said, nodding.

"He won't do it, Potter," Voldemort hissed from behind him. "You're all powerless, insignificant specks. He won't do it."

Harry closed his eyes. He had to ignore Voldemort. His heart was pounding in his chest, his ears were ringing, his scar was burning. He felt overwhelmed by every feeling possible; he was angry, he was scared, he was hopeful, he was sad...it was too much at one time, and his heart beat ever faster.

"Do it, Neville, don't make me say it again," he said, opening his eyes and finding them blurred by tears. Resignation. That feeling rose above all. The tears made his vision opaque but it was better this way. He did not want to look at Ron or Hermione. This was the way it was supposed to be.

"Harry, no, please," Neville was saying, his voice choking on sobs. He was shaking his head—Harry could indistinctly see him—and muttering, "No, no, please, no."

"Do it."

"I—no!"

"Neville, please, just do it already!"

"Give up, Potter, I've already won." Voldemort's voice flooded his ears.

Ignore it. "Do it."

Sobs from Neville.

"Do it!"

Laughter from Voldemort.

"DO IT!"

And they were gone, and he was conscious once more.

Many miles away, Neville sat up, waking from the strangest dream he had ever had.

He had been at Hogwarts, with duels around him, many duels, of Death Eaters and people he knew. Ron was there and Hermione was there. He had seen him, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, he had been behind Harry...

And Harry had been standing between him and the Dark Lord.

Neville put his head in his hands, feeling sweat lining his forehead, his breathing sharp and fast. He rubbed his eyes, trying to get rid of that image that still lurked in his vision.

He'd been pointing his wand at Harry. There was something he had to do, but he couldn't do it, he didn't want to do it. He was weak, and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named sensed it, and it pleased him. Neville remembered seeing his own arm extended, wand pointed at Harry. He had been choking within, strangled by the task that was put on him...Harry was telling him to do it, just do it...

"Do what?" he murmured. "Do what?"

He rubbed his head. He shouldn't let his imagination run away with him.

While images and thoughts invaded Harry's mind, his best friends were still sitting awash in silence heavy with the tension of not knowing what was wrong with him. They sat gazing at the snow falling slowly outside the window, and they did not acknowledge each other's presence.

Thus Ron was startled when Hermione spoke; her voice sounded choked and out of place in the aura of the room.

"Do they hurt?"

He looked at her, tearing his eyes away from the window, and saw that she was looking at the scars on his arms with great interest. He mentally cursed himself; he had been in such a hurry to get to Harry that he had put on this sleeveless shirt and not thought about the fact that it left the ugly markings on his arms exposed. He hated them, those scars. He didn't want them when he saw them, and wanted them even less when he felt them. There were times where he could forget that they were there, when they were out of sight under his school robes. He could go about normally without glancing at them and wondering how hideous people must think they were. But when his arms were left bare, like they were now, he became all too aware of them.

He'd studied them often during the summer, locked up alone in his room. Every time he looked at them, they made him feel stupid. It was his own fault he had them; who was stupid enough to Summon a brain without knowing what it could do to you? He faintly recalled seeing himself giggling and pointing his wand at the brain, then seeing it soar out of the green tank with the thoughts trailing after it like the tail of a kite. And then, when the tentacles had wrapped around his arms—how normal they had been before then—he'd felt searing pain where they touched him, but even more in his mind. He'd been inundated with thoughts and feelings and fears that didn't belong to him, and it had been overwhelming. He couldn't think at all, he couldn't sort out the brain's thoughts from his own, and all he knew was that he wanted it to stop.

Then that day in the hospital wing when the bandages had been taken away came, and he had almost cried out in disappointment. The pale skin of his arms was now lined with ugly red marks, with jarring patterns and hideous scarring. When he found himself looking at them, he wished they could just be willed away. He couldn't stop looking at them, no matter how unbearable it was for him—he was entranced by something horrible that he found made his appearance unusual, unappealing. And sometimes he felt them...and that was what hurt the most, the invasion into his thoughts, like a prying hand opening different compartments of his mind.

"Sometimes," he mumbled, unconsciously brushing his left hand over the scars on his right arm. "Only when I think about them." He felt the slight tingling sensation in his arms and bit down the curses he wanted to utter.

"What do you mean?"

He looked at her. She was watching with curious eyes, without a trace of intentions to hurt his feelings. She wanted to know what the scars did to him. He appreciated her concern, but he didn't want to talk about it.

So he shrugged. "You know...I start thinking all these weird thoughts that aren't mine. Sometimes I'm looking at memories with people I don't know. And they don't go away if I think about something else, 'cause I can't think about anything else...the thoughts and memories only go away when they want to. It's frustrating."

"So you only see someone else's thoughts?" She looked from his eyes to the scars, and back to his eyes again. His heart leapt unexpectedly and he looked away for a moment. She knew him too well.

"No." He didn't want to elaborate, and that made him keep his gaze down. He knew if he looked up and saw her brown eyes full of questions he would answer without hesitation. He liked talking to her, and he liked having her listen.

"Oh?"

_Damn it, Hermione. _"If—sometimes, when I touch one of the lines, I'll get a momentary flash of something. Like—like one time I put my entire hand on top of a group of scars and...I was watching a series of duels and I saw Harry and Y—Voldemort."

She was thinking about what he had said. He could practically see the wheels in her head turning. Another jerk at his heart—seriously, she would end up killing him one of these days if this kept up.

"What do you think that means?" she asked gently.

"I dunno. I reckon it's some sort of thought on...possibilities, of sorts. You know, things that I think _could _happen. Like the one of Harry and Voldemort...maybe in my minds eye I see it coming down to them..." His voice trailed off.

"That's a good point." She was silent for a moment, biting her lip softly. _Don't stare, stupid, she'll notice. _Then she said, "What happens when someone else touches them?"

He raised his eyebrows slightly. "Er...I can't say. Madam Pomfrey is the only other person who ever got really close to them but she never put her fingers on them or anything."

Hermione kept chewing on her bottom lip. Stomach somersault—_you are too vulnerable, Weasley, you should be ashamed of yourself. _Slowly, she said, "Can I?"

Again, he raised his eyebrows. "Bloody hell." She gave him a mildly stern look and he bit back a smile. "Uhh...what if it does something to you?"

"It won't. I just want to know if anything different goes on in your mind when it's someone else touching the scars."

"Uh huh," Ron muttered. If it were his choice, she would not be getting her fingers anywhere near his upper arms. He still wasn't past the blushing stage—it would be highly embarrassing. _Look away, she'll convince you if you don't look away..._

"Please?"

_Great, you git, too late now. _Ron sighed, "Yeah, okay."

Hermione gave him a small smile. She chewed on her lower lip once more. Then she moved her chair so it was next to him. His stomach gave an odd churn when their knees touched. He realized he really hadn't been this close to Hermione in a while, probably not since they'd left Hogwarts. They'd been too distracted, with Lennie and everything else. He felt his ears begin to warm up as her leg became pressed against his. She was really close now. _Vulnerable, I'm telling you..._

"If it starts hurting, tell me and I'll take my hand away," she said softly, and a little hoarsely for some reason. He saw her take a deep breath and swiftly reach up to his arm and press two fingers against a scar on his bicep.

It happened so fast in his mind that he almost missed it, but it was so strange—and so wonderful—that he saw it vividly. It came and went, maybe because he jumped when he saw it and she took her hand away. But it was so interesting to him that he could still picture it in his mind, it looked so real.

"Ron?" she said, her eyebrows furrowed. "Are you okay?"

He nodded and swallowed. "I, uh, saw something."

"What?"

But of course, there was no chance he could tell her what he'd seen. No way. Unless he wanted his face and ears to be permanently a scarlet color, he could not tell her. For in the instant when she touched him, his mind and the thought scar showed him one clear image: he had seen himself standing in a dark alcove, and his mouth had been pressed tightly against someone else's.

And, consequently, it was Hermione's.

So, naturally, there was no way he could burst out with something like, "I saw myself snogging the living daylights out of you, Hermione." Although that was a bit of an exaggeration..._you wish you'd seen some snogging, Weasley, but I assure you it was plain kissing._

"Ron?" Her voice startled him, and he whipped his head to the side to look at her. "What did you see?" she asked.

"Er..."

It actually had looked quite nice. He had been holding her face gently, and she had her arms draped around his neck. They were just standing there, in the dark little corner, kissing, and it had looked so inviting to Ron that he could not stop thinking about it.

"I—I—"

The way she was looking at him right now..._why _did she have to have those eyes? Why couldn't she have normal eyes, like Harry's? Harry's eyes didn't have that deep sparkle that showed ambition and caring. Harry's eyes were just eyes, period. Hermione's eyes seemed to hold the universe in them, and every time Ron looked into them, his knees went weak and he lost all common sense.

_If I was kissing her, her eyes would be closed._

Then maybe that's what he should do...

_Yeah, right, you're too much of a coward to do something like **that**._

He could very well do it...he doubted she would mind...and even if she did, he was sure he wouldn't mind...

Hermione was watching him with raised eyebrows, and Ron almost felt like she could tell what he was thinking. He looked at her. Her skin color was lighter than it was in the summertime, and the few freckles she had dotting her nose were clearly visible. Her lips were pink and they looked soft. And her eyes, well, what could not be said about them?

Ron felt himself leaning towards her, and he saw a flash in her eyes, as if she realized what he was doing. He didn't care, that image was still fresh in his mind, he was so close to making it real...

And when he was close enough to see the edge of her nose almost touching his, he heard Harry scream, "DO IT!"

He almost forgot that Harry had been lying in a bed unconscious for almost 20 minutes. He almost forgot that Harry had no idea what was going on.

Almost.

But he realized that Harry was not egging him on; his voice sounded desperate, choked, full of despair. And so when his best friend sat up and screamed those two words, he jumped away from Hermione and leaped out of his chair. He knew his cheeks were flushed and was uncomfortably aware of Hermione boring a stare into the back of his head, but he kept his eyes firmly planted on Harry.

"Harry, mate, are you all right?" he said, and he cursed mentally when he heard his voice shaking slightly. Hermione was still staring at him.

Harry was shaking his head, wiping the sweat from his forehead, taking his glasses from the bedside table and roughly putting them on again. He looked shaken and his hands were trembling.

That's when Hermione stopped looking at Ron (relief washed over him) and walked over to Harry. Ron tried to ignore what had been happening just moments earlier so he could focus on Harry.

Hermione placed a hand on her friend's back. "Harry, are you all right? Do you need anything?"

He was speechless, his mouth hanging open slightly. Ron and Hermione watched him silently, neither moving, waiting for him to regain some strength so he could speak.

"He—he's planned a—a new attack," he said hoarsely, his face losing the little color it had regained.

"Voldemort?" Hermione murmured. Harry nodded.

"Shit," Ron muttered, turning towards the window and running his hands through his hair. "That son of a bitch."

"Ron," Hermione said sternly.

"Malfoy and Bellatrix are arranging it," Harry continued, anger evident in his voice. Ron picked a few choice names for them that made Hermione groan in exasperation. Harry didn't seem to be listening to him, just trying to find a way to explain what he had seen. "Bellatrix...she was mocking me, about Sirius and—and about how I don't know where they're going to attack."

"What do you mean, you don't know where? If Voldemort was planning it while you were there—"

"No, it was like they were expecting me to drop in on them and they conveniently left out the part about _who _they're attacking!" Harry said, putting his head in his hands.

"Harry, we have to tell the Order, they'll—"Hermione began, but Harry interrupted.

"We can't!"

Hermione looked to be taken aback by this, and Ron saw her eyes fill up with hurt and confusion. "Harry, please, we could help keep someone from getting hurt—"

"Like we tried to do last time?" Harry snarled. Ron looked in incredulity from him to Hermione, who was now biting her lip to prevent tears from falling.

"Someone's going to get hurt, we _have _to try to prevent it!"

Harry shook his head, and Ron saw that his eyes were red rimmed. "If we tell anyone from the Order, they'll just take us away and lock us up in that damn house." His voice broke. "I don't want to go back there. Please."

Hermione let a few tears fall, and she threw her arms around Harry. "All right, Harry," she murmured. "We won't say anything."

Harry buried his head into her shoulder. "I'm sorry, it's just...Sirius...I can't..."

"It's all right, mate," Ron said, hearing his voice quivering even more than before. "We're here together. We'll be okay."

A/n: Okay, that's chapter six for you...I need some of these things in here because this story isn't all happy romance fluff (although there's certainly nothing wrong with that). But there won't be much more mention of Voldemort till later. To come: snow, arguments, and Christmas presents. Now...please review, thank you kindly! 8)


	7. Back to Normal, Of Sorts

A/n: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I've got a couple of new reviewers, and I feel so extremely flattered just hearing (or reading, I suppose) you guys say "please write more!" Okay, this chapter gets things rolling. I'm really sorry for taking so long to put this up, but it's a complicated chapter. I'm expecting some rotten tomatoes thrown at me for this one but…well, I'll just let you read, shall I?

 Disclaimer: Don't own this; am desperately in love with Ron. The "son of a witch" pun is taken directly from the brilliant mouth of Bart Simpson, and POTC fans will recognize the Jack Sparrow line…I couldn't resist! 8 )

**NSH**

**Chapter 7: Back to Normal—Of Sorts**

            Snow was falling lightly outside Hermione's window. It wasn't heavy; it would stop within minutes. _Good**, **_Hermione thought, picking up the scarf draped around the back of her chair and securing it around her neck. She picked up her hand-held mirror, adjusted the scarf absentmindedly, and then sank down into the chair, her eyes fixed on the snow.

            Not that she had any interest in it. She hadn't really been aware of much since the previous afternoon.

            Harry was slightly annoyed with her, and she really couldn't blame him. She'd been on pins and needles after he'd regained consciousness. Ron had suggested they stay at home the rest of the day, and Hermione had been the first to agree. Harry had been against it, because he said he was fine and should not ruin the day, but he'd given in and they'd spent the day watching television. Even so, every time Harry had made a sudden movement, she'd jumped and glanced over at him.

            _I worry too much._

            But Harry's state hadn't been the only thing on her mind. She'd also been pondering about the incident that had occurred with Ron only seconds before Harry had awoken. Just the thought of it made her stomach do odd twists and turns, and one look into her mirror told her she was blushing profusely. Ignoring the warmth in her cheeks, she let her mind wander to the few minutes before Harry had sat up.

            It was odd, how she could still feel the prickling of Ron's skin on the tip of her fingers. Her breath had caught in her throat when her fingers touched the scar. She'd anticipated that something might happen to her, but all she felt was a pinch on the tip of the fingers touching the scar. She also felt her mind go blank for a nanosecond, but then she went back to thinking about how she felt tiny electric shocks going through her from being so close to Ron. While she tried to keep hidden that she was enjoying the closeness very much, she saw Ron's eyes light up for a moment. That's when he had jumped and she'd dropped her fingers from his arm.

            Then he'd looked over at her, incredulity etched all over his features. His eyebrows were furrowed and his eyes were unfocused, as if he was looking at something that wasn't there. His ears were turning red at the tips, and his mouth was hanging open slightly. When he told her he'd seen something, her heart had begun beating faster. She had edged ever closer to him, not too much so that it was a subtle change. With her leg pressed against his, she'd asked him what he'd seen. But he didn't tell her. He seemed to be mesmerized by his own thoughts or his feelings or whatever it was he had seen—a mixture of both.

            That's when she'd grown a bit frightened. The look on his face, of utter confusion and what seemed like a battle within himself, made her begin to worry. Maybe she shouldn't have touched the thought scars. Thoughts leave deep scars. That's what Madam Pomfrey had said. As she watched Ron's eyes start to grow clearer, she wondered whether maybe she'd caused more scarring, inside of him rather than outside.

            But then her entire body had gone rigid, because she'd seen Ron's head move towards hers. It was slow and cautious, but nevertheless determined. Her whole mind froze, barely registering the thought of what he might be doing. All she could do was gaze at his freckles—how she loved his freckles—as they drew nearer. She found herself making eye contact with her and holding his gaze. She felt her own head moving as well…

            "Dammit," she muttered, snatching her blue gloves from where they sat atop her desk. Roughly, she slipped her fingers into the gloves, gritting her teeth and trying to ignore all thoughts about the incident. The memory of it was pressing down onto her; her room was suffocating her with the gaping hole she felt inside at the mere reasoning of what could have happened but didn't. Gloves on, she grabbed her jacket, toppling the stuffed dog Pygmalion off from the bed, and rushed out of the room, biting her lip furiously.

            Why had Harry woken up at that moment?

            "Stop it," she said to herself to clenched teeth. "It's stupid."

            "What's stupid?" said a voice behind her.

            She turned and saw Harry leaning on the door of his room, buttoning his jacket over his emerald jumper. He was looking at her with one eyebrow slightly raised. She felt relief seep into her; his cheeks had already regained their natural color and he looked normal. Well, as normal as Harry Potter could be, anyway.

            She gave him a weak smile. "Nothing."

            He smirked. "Oh, please, Hermione. You know how Ron knows when Ginny's lying and can get it out of her in no time? The same goes for me and you. I can tell when you're not telling me something. So tell me."               

            "It's you and me, not me and you." She started walking away, hoping the warm feeling in her cheeks wasn't noticeable as a blush. Harry laughed and fell into step beside her, shaking his head.

            "Just like you to give me a grammar lesson to change the subject," he said, grinning at her sideways. She couldn't help but notice that the smile didn't completely reach his eyes, which still looked clouded.  But she didn't mention it; she didn't want Harry to get the wrong idea and perceive her concern as an opinion of him being weak.

            Instead, she laughed softly and said, "I was just worrying about one bit of extra credit I was planning to do for Professor McGonagall that I haven't had a chance to get started."

            Harry raised his eyebrows as they descended the stairs. "Well, I'll be a son of a witch. I'd never think I'd live to see the day when Hermione Granger dismiss schoolwork as stupid."

            Hermione shoved him sideways gently. "Oh, please, Harry, it's extra credit. I don't necessarily _have _to do it."

            "But you _want _to."

            She rolled her eyes and said, "Drop it." Then she stepped down into the main hallway and saw Lennie standing in front of the ornate mirror on the opposite wall, setting a hat jauntily on top of her head. She apparently saw Hermione in the mirror, because she grinned and said, "Gotta keep the ears warm."

            Hermione and Harry laughed as Lennie walked over and gave each of them a hug. Hermione smiled and said, "Are we all set?"

            Lennie shrugged. "Ron was down here a minute ago, but he seemed a bit restless. He's in the kitchen, I think." Lennie glanced at Hermione strangely, and Hermione was suddenly aware that she was biting her lip and fidgeting with her hands. She looked at Lennie and said, "Er…he probably just didn't get enough sleep last night. He's always grumpy when he's at a lack of rest." Lennie laughed and Hermione breathed a silent sigh of relief.

            "RON!"

            Hermione shot Harry a reproachful look. "Harry, why don't you just go get him? Is it really necessary to _yell_? Especially in my ear?"

            "Better than walking," came Ron's voice from behind her.  She glanced over her shoulder and saw him scratching the back of his head with his right hand. "You can't blame the poor guy; it's not like he can appear from one place to another." Ron and Harry exchanged grins at the casual reference to magic.

            "You've been spending too much time with the twins, Ron," Hermione said, not looking at him and instead walking to the door. Lennie looked confused, but Hermione didn't bother trying to make up for Ron's oddness; she really wasn't in the mood. "All right," she said, sounding as business-like as ever. "My parents are in their library right now. They like to stay indoors when it snows. Anyway, they said we shouldn't stay out too long or we'll catch a bad cold. I think an hour will do."

            "Sure," Harry and Ron chorused. Lennie nodded and said, "Good, let's not waste our hour by standing here and talking! Outside, people!"

            Everyone laughed and walked out the front door, into the snow-covered front yard. Every inch of the floor was covered with perfect, white snow. Hermione smiled; she loved being home during Christmas holidays. The snow had stopped falling, and the sky was clear. There was only a slight breeze tickling their faces, and plenty of snow for…ammunition, of course.

            "Ah, it's a winter wonderland," said Lennie, grinning. Harry and Hermione sniggered. Ron, on the other hand, looked utterly bewildered. But Hermione ignored him. She really wasn't in the mood to explain.

            Squeals reached Ron's ears as he dived behind a bush in front of Hermione's house to avoid being bombarded by snowballs. Lennie apparently had a fondness for snowball fights—one could only guess why—and had started one just minutes after they'd stepped outside. She was obviously quite the expert on snowball fights, like Ron to chess and Hermione to schoolwork and Harry to Defense Against the Dark Arts.

            "To each his own," Ron said to himself, sniggering quietly. He crouched low behind the small bush, regretting for once being so tall; his entire body frame could not be hidden by the petite shrubbery. Soon enough, Lennie had thrown one rather large snowball at his side, and she'd hit her target.

            "Not bloody fair!" Ron said, grinning as he craned his head over to see what damage had been done. A large wet spot had appeared on the right side of his jumper, with bits of snow still embedded in the fabric. He was still inspecting the "injury" when another chunk of snow hit the side of his head. "Dammit, Harry, that's just inhuman!" he shouted as his best friend, rubbing the spot where the snowball had hit.

            Lennie and Harry were standing a few yards away from him, clutching their stomachs; clouds of vapor rose from their mouths as they continued laughing. Ron gave shot them a conniving look as he bent down. He gathered as much snow as his hands could hold and packed it together, so that it created a large, hard snowball. "Oh, revenge is sweet," he said, as he drew his arm back and threw the snowball at the two giggling loons. It hit Harry, who pretended to crumple to the ground from the impact.

            "Ron!" came Hermione's scolding voice. He turned to see her looking at him through narrowed eyes, her hands on her hips. Sniggering, he said, "I've got great aim, eh?"

            She raised her eyebrows dangerously, and the smile he'd had on his face vanished. He knew he'd said the wrong thing, and he was most definitely in for a chastising session. "Can you get any stupider, Ron? You could have hurt him!"

            Ron felt his ears begin to burn. Stupid, was he? "Sweet Merlin, Hermione, he was _kidding_. I didn't really knock him out or something."

            Hermione gave him a withering look. "Oh, I suppose you think that's funny."

            "_He _does!"

            "That doesn't justify that!"

            "It's a game, Hermione, can you relax?"

            Her eyes grew narrower as she said, "You might be over what happened yesterday, but I'm not, and I would really appreciate if you acknowledged that. But since _that _isn't going to happen any time soon, I'll just sit out on the _game_, shall I?" With that she turned and trenched through the snow, leaving Ron standing there, looking incredulously at her retreating back.

            "Sure, go ahead, it's your loss!" he yelled, and turned back to see Lennie and Harry watching them, a half finished snowball in Harry's hands. He knew he must have a sour look on his face. Managing to twist the grimace into a grin, he said, "What, lost your nerve, Harry?" His friend was still looking at him warily, and Ron knew he wanted him to make up with Hermione.

            "Oh, throw the snowball, Harry, he's off-guard," Lennie said in a mock-whisper that was perfectly audible to Ron. He forced a laugh, but ignored the pair. His eyes wandered to the right side of his vision, where he could see the large tree that sat in front of the Grangers' house. He saw a dark shape beneath it, hugging her knees and apparently holding a book. Trust Hermione to bring a book out when they were supposed to be having _fun_.

            "Incoming!" yelled Lennie, and he turned in time to see an airborne snowball flying towards him. It was slow, though, so he moved out of the way at the last minute and let it hit the snowy ground with a lousy _thump._ Lennie laughed and said, "Nice of you, Ron, to ruin the fun!" Harry shook his head, pretending to be disappointed in him.

            "Haha, yeah. Er, guys, you think we could take a break?" His eyes met Harry's and he knew his friend understood; he wanted to try to make Hermione's mood better. Harry gave him an apprehensive look, one that was almost like a warning, before he nodded slightly.

            "Well, Lennie, we could make some snowmen while the weakling takes his rest," Harry said to Lennie, grabbing a handful of snow. Ron shot him a grateful smile and left the two of them as he made his way toward the tree under which Hermione sat.

            The minute he got within hearing range of her, he knew she was avoiding his presence. He could see her eyes firmly planted on the pages of her book but her eyes were not moving. He held back a small smile that was tugging at his lips as he plopped down next to her. Despite the fact that he was not too close to her, he felt her tense up, and mentally cursed himself for making her mad.

            "What are you reading?" he asked gingerly, opting for small talk as the first choice.

            "My favorite book. And no, it's not _Hogwarts, A History_. And no, your idea of small talk will not make up for you being inconsiderate." Her answer was curt and distanced. Ron bit back the retort that almost left his mouth.

            "Oh." That was all he managed to say. Maybe if he just sat with her, she'd give in to his company and start talking to him normally again. In the meantime, he settled for placing his arms on his knees and relaxing, his back against the hard trunk of the tree. Trying to ignore the silence that fell over them, he watched Harry and Lennie begin to build the bases of their snowmen. He smiled; it looked fun, but somehow, despite the fact that she was in a foul mood, he was content sitting her with Hermione.

            Without meaning to, his eyes moved over to her. She seemed calmer now. Her eyes were moving back and forth across the page. She was obviously immersed in the book, and his heart fell. She probably wasn't enjoying the warm feeling that came from the closeness of their bodies like he was. Slightly disgusted with himself, he shifted his eyes back to Harry and Lennie.

            But no sooner had he started watching his friends than he felt his eyes tug towards Hermione. _Weakness, Weasley, weakness. _When he moved his eyes to rest on Hermione, he found to his surprise that her chocolate brown eyes were looking up at him. In the brief second they made eye contact, he knew that he had been wrong to think that his presence made no difference to her. She snapped her eyes back to her book before he could hold her gaze and she was still.

            Ron let his head turned slightly, not caring that it was obvious he was looking at her. Because it was cold out, her face was paler than usual and he could see her freckles stand out again. He felt his mouth begin to turn up in a smile. He watched as her eyebrows flew up from something she read in the book; then she grew serious again, concentrated on the words she was reading. His stomach churned pleasantly when he saw a small smile placed on her lips as she continued reading her book. _Must be some book._

Absentmindedly, he lifted his hand to rub a spot in the middle of his chest. For some reason, he felt an odd sensation stirring inside his chest, like if his lungs weren't allowing him to breathe properly. His hand traveled from his chest to his right arm, the arm with the scars that Hermione had touched the day before. The hand resting on the jumper sleeve of his arm made him think about the blissful moment he'd had with Hermione. He felt the feeling in his chest intensify, and he recognized it.

            He'd had this feeling before, when he'd been with Hermione but hadn't _been _with Hermione. He smiled to himself; as usual, he was making no sense. There had been times when they'd been together and he had wanted to tell her, just come right out, make things easier. But there was an overwhelming part of him who feared that their friendship would crumble if the feelings weren't mutual.

Oh, bloody hell, they had to be! It was in her eyes; in the way she looked at him like she wanted to kill him but couldn't bear to have him gone and in the flash in her eyes when he did something that surprised her, whether it made her angry or excited. It was in her smile sometimes, the way she showed just how much she cared but demonstrated all too clearly how sheepish she was to admit it. It was in her hands, when she slipped them into his or caused fire to spread on his skin when she touched him.

            But then there was the chance that he was lying to himself, that he was creating all those "signs" out of desperate hope and desire. It wasn't fair…he'd lasted this way for three years, and he didn't think he could last much longer. Especially not with arguments like these that they had. Not that they happened as often as before, but they were still occasional and just as disrupting.

            "Are we friends?" The words had left his mouth without his consent, and he saw her turn her head to look at him. She looked taken aback by the puzzling question. _You should consult me before you speak, you git._

            "What? Of course," she said, looking at him curiously.

            He sighed and turned his head away. Looking somewhere other than her eyes made it much easier to talk to her sometimes. "I'm just—just making sure." Her silence told him she still didn't understand, and he mentally cursed himself for bringing up the subject. "You know, the tables have turned since first year."

            "Ron, you lost me. What are you talking about?"

            He picked up a bit of snow in his hands and shrugged. "It's just that before it used to be me making you angry, you know, putting you down. In first year I did it constantly, always pointing out some flaw about you. But now, it's you who does that to me. And that just makes me wonder, sometimes, if we're really friends."

            Hermione gave a soft sigh. He turned to look at her and saw that she looked at a loss for words. She took her gloves off her hand brusquely, threw them in the snow, and set stray strands of her hair behind her ears. Her eyes were wide and she was shaking her head gently. When she finally let her eyes meet his, she made a noise between a groan and a whimper.

            Ron shifted his eyes away from hers. The image of the kiss from the thought scars flashed in his mind's eye. Why wasn't it real?…Why didn't he just tell her? _You're too much of a bloody coward…it's a wonder you know your brain is in your head, Weasley.  _Her answer rang clear as a bell in his mind.

            "We're friends." It was the most sincere thing he'd ever heard, and it made him want to take her and just hold her and ignore the world and hate and time. But he couldn't, and that made that strange pain in his chest worse than it had ever been before.

            Then she did something that stayed in his mind forever. In later years, it made him think of chess, because of the subtle way of starting the game. It was the faint act of pushing a pawn to a new square, a new territory unknown to it but necessary to traverse to advance in the game.

            Delicately, she nudged his knee with hers, letting hers linger on his for a second longer than necessary. When he managed to turn and look her in the eye—ignoring the small bursts of what seemed like Filibuster Fireworks in his stomach—he saw a new depth to the brown of the pupils, and he felt himself smile.

            This nudge, her eyes…it was a completely new sign, and Ron could not think of a time when he had known he cared about her more than now.

            Sunlight poked through the darkness behind Hermione's half-closed lids the next morning. She tried to ignore the spiderwebs of light that were bringing her away from sleep but her eyes opened against her own will. It took only a few seconds for her to realize that her throat felt dry and parched; a loud, raspy cough escaped her mouth. She noticed she was breathing through her mouth and realized she must have a stuffy nose.

            Rubbing her face with her cold hands, she slipped out of bed onto the cold wood floor. She sneezed and felt the pain in her throat grow. "Oh, no," she croaked, feeling her eyes burn. Being out in the snow must have made her sick. "Mum was right," she muttered to herself, her throat on fire by the mere effort of talking. She sank back into her bed, closing her eyes to stop the burning sensation.

            A few minutes passed before she lapsed back into sleep. When she awoke once more, she saw Harry and Ron talking in undertones at the end of her bed. Harry noticed that she was no longer asleep and greeted her. She waved a hand weakly and said, "I'm sick. I think I might have sat in the snow under that tree for too long yesterday."

            "Are you serious? Aww, man, Lennie's already here!" Ron groaned.

            Hermione shot him a reproachful look. "I appreciate your concern, Ronald."

            "Sorry," he mumbled. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and said, "Well, what are we gonna do?"

            "We could stay here with you if you want," Harry said. "We wouldn't mind having a Chess Day."

            Hermione smiled. "You don't have to do that. You guys play chess enough already. We need to be careful with feeding Ron's ego, or else he won't be able to walk by the weight of his big head."

            "I'm right here, you know."

            She ignored Ron's protest with a small smile and said, "Spend the day with Lennie. It's a few days till Christmas, anyway, so you deserve to have some fun. And, don't worry, she'll be nice about having to entertain the likes of you two for a day."

            Harry laughed. "All right. I'll go tell her that, and I'll have your mum bring you breakfast."

            "Thanks," Hermione said, her voice already losing its sound.

            Ron watched Harry leave and then turned to look at Hermione. Feeling a bit self-conscious with his gaze upon her, she reached for the book on her nightstand and flipped to the page marked by her dragon shaped bookmark.

            "Er…so do you feel really bad?"

            Hermione looked up. Ron was walking across to her window, not looking at her. She put the book in her lap and said, "Not _too _bad. My throat just really hurts, that's all."

            Ron looked over at her, his eyebrows raised, "Well, you just look like—"

            She narrowed her eyes. "Ron, I know I probably look like I've got a tomato for a nose. I don't need you to point that out, thank you very much."

            He scowled. "I was going to say that you look like you might want to rest a bit. You need to stop underestimating me, Hermione, because it's getting pretty annoying."

            She bit lightly on her lower lip, disgruntled with herself. "Sorry," she said, rubbing her nose softly.

            Ron turned his head to look at her. She looked up to see him giving her a lopsided smile, and she knew he wasn't angry. He turned to look back out the window, and it gave her a chance to study his eyes against the light streaming in. The iris looked almost transparent, the blue turned crystalline. There was something in his demeanor that made him seem happier. It was an extra spark in his eyes that made her stomach feel like she had swallowed several tiny birds and they were tickling her insides.

            She was a bit disappointed when he started to leave. However, he paused at the door and leaned against the frame of it. He locked eyes with her and said, "You know…you're getting pretty good at chess."

            Her eyebrows flew up. It was an unexpected comment—and one she didn't think true, for that matter—but accompanied by the intense look he was giving her, she felt pleasant chills go up and down her spine. "Thanks," she said, smiling.

            He grinned back. "Get better," he said, "Harry and I will check up on you later." His eyes held the contact with hers for a few seconds longer than normal, and she felt a jolt as she was caught in the memory of touching his scar and being so close to him…

            "Hey…Ron?" she said softly, just as he was stepping out the door. He looked back at her, expectant. She felt her throat close up as she realized what she'd been about to do. Her fingers shook in her lap as she said, "Um…say hi to Lennie for me."

            Ron watched her for a minute, then said, "Sure," but his eyes remained serious. "I'll see you later then."

            And when he closed the door with a soft click, an empty feeling resided in Hermione's stomach that made her realize how powerful a few words said could be.

            Or, in her case, a few words left unsaid.

            Hermione held one of Pygmalion's paws in her hands. She'd been softly stroking the cotton material of the stuffed animal. Her day was growing lengthy and tedious. She'd been sitting in her room, mostly reading but plenty of time staring into space, for a few hours now.

            It wasn't even noon yet.

            She set Pygmalion off to the side and lay her head back on her pillow. But her plans of sleeping some more were put off when her mother walked into the room gingerly. Hermione didn't have a chance to feign sleep, and a voice in her head actually encouraged her to stay awake.

            Mrs. Granger sat at the end of her bed, watching her with a small smile. "How're you feeling, honey?" she asked, smoothing the covers over her daughter.

            Hermione shrugged. "All right, I suppose…my throat doesn't hurt as much, except when I talk too long." She glanced out the window. Resenting that she could be spending the day with Ron, she sighed and said, "Mum, I need…well, I wouldn't really call it advice, because I know what I have to do, but it's not an opinion because that would just explain your views and not what you think I should do and—all right." She gave her expectant mother a sheepish smile and said, "It's Ron."

            "Oh, I was hoping it would be him!" came her mother's almost immediate answer.

            "I beg your pardon?" said Hermione, slightly taken aback by the delight evident in Mrs. Granger's voice. Her eyes were sparkling as she looked at Hermione.

            "Well, you know…Harry's a dear, but I was quite taken with Ron ever since I met him," she said, her smile widening. "And he's a cute one, with those freckles!" She was very much on the verge of squealing.

            Hermione felt her cheeks begin to burn. "Sweet Merlin, mother. This is not what I wanted my discussion to be about!"

            Mrs. Granger attempted to look serious (although, Hermione noted with a bit of exasperation, she was still looking gleeful). "All right, tell me what this is all about."

            "I just…" Now that she had her mother's attention, she was again at a loss for words. "How do I go about telling him?" she finally said, letting her shoulders droop by the weight of the task she'd mentioned.

            Mrs. Granger raised her eyebrows. "Just the fact that you're willing to tell him is a good sign." She smiled and said, "Do you think he likes you back?"

            Hermione looked away. The sunlight streaming in through her window turned into a light of projection, throwing into sharp relief many memories of spending time with Ron, when she'd been close enough to point out every freckle on his nose and decide the exact hue of the pale pink of his cheeks. She almost felt as if she were in those moments again, feeling Ron's hands against hers…She started. Glancing at her mother, she saw she'd left her waiting for an answer. Taking a deep breath she said, "It's quite complicated. At times, yes, but then…" She shook her head. "Maybe it's a stupid idea to tell him."

            "But Hermione, if you really care about him, you don't want to spend your time longing for something and keeping yourself from having it!"

            She watched her mother warily, looking for some change in her demeanor that would reveal that she didn't really mean what she said. But there was none.

            "So it's best if I just come out with it?" Hermione said softly, reaching for Pygmalion again.

Her mother placed a hand over hers and said, "I really think so, darling. You'll never accomplish anything unless you try. Look at Hogwarts for a perfect example."

Hermione gave a small laugh. "Well, if it wasn't for me going to Hogwarts, I wouldn't be in this dilemma."

"Don't be too quick to pessimism," her mother said with a grin. "If I can read signs of young love—and I pride myself in being able to do so very well—then I doubt you'll regret 'confessing' to him."

With a slight roll of her eyes but a smile nonetheless, she said, "I hope you're right…" She paused for a moment and then said, "I think I'll go downstairs for a bit."

Mrs. Granger nodded. "Hermione, don't rush yourself into it, though. Just…wait for the opportune moment."

Biting her lip, Hermione said, "I will." Then she slipped out of bed, letting her feet fit into her blue slippers, and pulled on her bathrobe. "I'll talk to you later, Mum." With that, she began walking out of the room.

When she was at the door, her mother called her name. Hermione looked back to see her grinning. "But tell me," she said, almost mischievously. "You _do _like his freckles, don't you?"

Hermione smiled and felt a blush settling into her cheeks. She bit her lower lip once more and said, "Yes, Mum…they're absolutely endearing." Then with a laugh, she left the room, leaving her amused mother behind.

            Walking on the cold floor of the stairs felt refreshing on Hermione's warm feet after having been under a blanket all morning. She tucked her hair behind her ears, attempting to hide the fact that it was a tangled mess. Glancing briefly at the mirror at the end of the stairs, she rolled her eyes and muttered, "Honestly, it doesn't even resemble hair…"

            She was about to continue walking when she noticed Crookshanks was in her way. The way he was purring and stretching himself out in front of her made it quite plain that he was trying to distract her from where she originally intended to go. She grinned. "Not going to happen, Crookshanks." She picked him up and scratched him behind the ears. He purred loudly and licked her hand. "Oh, I spoil you too much," she said softly, putting him down. He gave her a reluctant look—obviously, he liked her arms much better than the wooden floor—and then prowled away, his ginger tail high in the air.

            _How is it that you can see anything and think of him?_

"Ridiculous," she said to herself, watching the last signs of her cat-kneazle slipping into the kitchen. Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she walked towards the living room, where she suspected her friends were. She was almost at the doorframe when she thought she heard her name. Turning, she found no one was there. There was a sinking feeling in her stomach as she entered the living room.

            Her heart skipped a beat, and her blood turned to ice. She knew her mouth must be hanging open and that she was completely frozen on the spot, but she couldn't help it. Her friends were in the living room, all right. Ron had his elbows on the table where a chessboard was set up. Lennie was in the same position across from him, and they were exchanging grins.

            Then something shifted and she felt her blood boil. Ron's eyes met hers for a brief moment, and she felt anger well up inside her. She was in no way angry at Lennie, but Ron…she closed her eyes and bit down hard on her lower lip. She saw herself in Ron's arms, and the anger intensified. When her eyes snapped open, she saw Ron standing, a concerned and mildly terrified look on his face.

            "Hermione, what's--?"

            She shook her head. _Let him go away, far away, I don't want to see him. _"Sorry to have disturbed you." Her voice was harsh, and she did not regret using that tone with him. She wanted to penetrate his skin so he could feel just how angry she was. _Exactly why are you angry?_

            The voice that was usually clear and reasonable in her head had vanished, and she wasn't entirely sure why she was so hostile. But she let her words hang in the air, ringing like an invisible bell. She felt like she was watching a stop in time as Ron watched her, at an utter loss for words. Then she realized she was still standing there, as if waiting for an answer, and she most certainly didn't want one; not now, at least. So she turned and sped out of the living room as fast as she could, not glancing back once.

            Ron felt his feet firmly planted to the floor. He didn't fully comprehend what had just taken place in Hermione's living room, but there was no doubt in his mind that it was not good. He'd seen the hurt look in her eyes when she'd seen him so close to Lennie. _You great moron. You've been pushing her to the edge, and now you've gone too far._

His throat felt dry and his entire body felt numb. At a loss of what to do, he ran his hand through his hair and took a deep breath. But when he exhaled the deadened feeling in the pit of his stomach was still very present, and he felt choked.

            "Ron." Lennie's voice reached his ear and he turned. She looked disappointed. "What are you doing?"

            He held his hand out, palms upward. "What the hell am I supposed to do?"

            Lennie's features were marked with incredulity. "Are you mad? You're supposed to talk to her, of course!" She let her head fall into her hands, and it was the first sign of discomfort he'd ever seen her show. With her hands still cradling it, she shook her head. "Oh, God, this is all wrong…I should have known better…I should have seen it…"

            "What are you so bloody upset about? It's pretty obvious that she's mad at me!" Ron said, his words short, still feeling like his lungs were contracting.

            Lennie looked up at him. "You don't understand, and I don't know how you  can't, but that's not for me to figure out. One thing I do know, though, is that Hermione very well expects _you _to apologize."

            "For WHAT?" Ron said, his voice rising with his temper. "I didn't do anything."

            Lennie, for some reason, let a small smile cross her face. "No, it wouldn't seem that way. Go." When he opened his mouth to speak, she held up a hand to stop him and then pointed to the door which Hermione had left through.

            His face burning, he shook his head in confusion and walked briskly out of the living room, his entire being focused on figuring Hermione out. Or attempting to.

            He found her outside, under the tree which both of them had been sitting under the previous afternoon. _I always knew she was nutters. _She had no coat on and she was barefoot, but nonetheless there she stood.

            "What the hell, Hermione?" he said when he was in hearing range. She looked up at him sharply, her eyes colder than they had ever been. Just seeing their icy depth made Ron stop where he stood, still a few feet away from him.

            "You are just despicable, Ron. I cannot even begin to understand how your brain works, if there is one inside your thick skull." The scowl on her face was hurt and irritated and he knew it would take much more than an apology to make amends.

            He sighed, looking away. "Sorry, I missed the part where I did something wrong!"

            She shook her head in disgust. "You know, I haven't seen as much of you as I'd thought this holiday. Now that I really think back on it, you've been neglecting Harry and me, and I finally understand why."

            "Neglecting you? Hermione, I've been around you the entire time!"

            "Sure, the few days you haven't been with Lennie!"

            He paused, not knowing how to respond. He tried to think reasonably but the part of his brain that was fuming at the injustice of it all took over. "Me?! You're the one who left us almost 2 entire days to be with her! If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were looking for a really good excuse to be mad at me!"

            Hermione narrowed her eyes. "You are just…." She growled in exasperation, and that aggravated him some more.

            "Why do you always have to do this?! Why do you always find it so hard to go one day without fighting with me?!"

            "I have good reason to this time, Ron! I'm tired of having you as a friend most of the time, but the minute you find a pretty face, you go after her and forget that you even have friends! Do you know how that feels? To be ignored by your own best friend because of a girl he's interested in? I'm really tired of it, and I'm not taking it anymore!"

            _She's wrong. _"Stop lying to me," he said. "Drop the act and just tell me why the hell it makes you so angry that I'm spending time with Lennie."

            "You—"

            "The truth, Hermione!"

            She looked at him hard for a few moments. He felt his confidence weakening under her glare, but he held eye contact until she blinked and looked away. "You're so selfish," she said, no longer yelling. "You can't bear to think that you've done something wrong. You can't admit that you've been overlooking us, the people who have been loyal to you for years now. But you have, and I'm not going to ignore that anymore." She looked at the floor, and he saw that her hands, hanging limply at her sides, were shaking. "It's getting really difficult being your friend."

            "You have no idea, Hermione," he said, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice for the sake of making up. But her words stung him, and he couldn't hide that.

            "All right, Ron, tell me this: do you truly think that I'm wrong and you're right? Do you really believe that you haven't been disregarding us because you're so taken with Lennie?"

            She'd looked up at him, and her eyes held no barriers. But she was testing him, and he knew it. _Give in, dumbass, is you want her to even consider forgiving you. Who cares if she's wrong? Just say she's right! _ He swallowed his true words and said, "Fine. Yes. You're right. I like spending time with Lennie and I haven't been considering what you two think of it."

            Her reaction was unreadable, but he knew she was surprised. However, he couldn't tell if she was surprised that he'd admitted to her being right, or surprised at the answer he'd given. "There you have it!" she said, intruding his thoughts. "Now do you understand why I'm so angry?! You're just as bad as you were in fourth year, Ron. All of you are." And then she looked him in the eye, and said, "That's why I've never, and don't intend to, take an interest in any guy at Hogwarts, because you're all just as selfish and loathsome!"

            The words rang in his head. In that moment, with the snow about his feet and one of the people he most cared about standing before him with fury still in her eyes, he felt that no spell, no Unforgivable Curse, could cause him more damage than the words she had uttered. Unaware of every movement he made and every thought that raced through his mind he stood, and tried—but failed—to ignore the deep chasm that was forming within him. If he had stopped breathing, he wouldn't have been surprised.

            "Checkmate," he said, the single word causing him more strain than he had ever felt before. And he held her eyes—wide and lost—for a short moment before letting his feet lead him back to the house.

            The abyss he felt tearing him apart did not ease as he moved away from her.

A/N: ….review? Please!


	8. Windows

A/n: I'm so incredibly sorry, guys, I know it's been a really long time since I updated, but there were a lot of things going on at school, stressful times getting to me and all of that. But I am now back and ready to write my heart out. This chapter was intended so I could lead you guys into the minds of the characters as I've gotten to know them. I'm splitting this chapter into two so you guys can get SOMETHING of mine to read…the next chapter, which would be the companion bit to this one, will be coming soon. I hope you guys like it, and I'm sorry for not getting to the argument resolution just yet, but trust me, you guys won't complain when it comes. =) This chapter, like the next two, is taking place the day after the argument, on the day of Christmas Eve.

Disclaimer: Doo doo doo. I'm sorry, I do not own the characters in this story. Please try your inquiry again later.

**NSH**

**Chapter 8: Windows**

**Hermione **

_  
Nobody said it was easy  
No one ever said that it would be this hard_

_--Coldplay, "The Scientist"_

          A day, no, a night—nay, a lifetime had passed, it seemed, since she had stood under the tree just outside her house. Her eyes flickered to it as she sat next to her window. At this moment, this moment alive with the stench of time, she hated that tree, everything about it. She hated its bare limbs, the way they allowed the snow to fall through their fingers instead of cradling it in their leaves. She hated the bark, cold and gray and dead in the winter, like the winter season was to hide from and summer to be welcomed. She hated how this tree had watched what had unfolded the previous afternoon and had done nothing about it.

            The door of her room creaked and it drew her attention away from the horrible tree. Crookshanks was slinking into the room, opening the door only a few inches. His yellow eyes met hers; a moment later, he stretched one of his stubby hind legs and pushed the door closed with a force that made it evident that he was no ordinary cat. She couldn't help letting a smile flit across her face—Crookshanks could practically read her mind. She wanted the door to remain closed, and she wished to only sit by the window and let the time pass.

            And as she thought of the window, she looked back at the tree, standing alone amidst the snow. She sighed, Crookshanks paws touching her legs lightly as he leapt up onto her lap. Her hand made its way to the top of his head and scratched his ears, smiling as he purred and then lay his head down.

            She didn't understand why she'd said what she'd said. A common mistake of all creatures of all worlds, from the always learning humans to the wise dragons, to regret their words after they have left their mouths, to understand them after their initial impact has occurred. That was how she felt now. Her words kept hitting her now like raindrops, and the storm didn't seem to be relenting. The things she said reverberated around her, so that she couldn't think of the date and time and place but only of what she'd done and how she wished it wasn't real.

            _You could take it back._

Like that would be enough of an apology for Ron. No, he deserved more than that. He shouldn't be expecting an apology in the first place, because the words she said ought not to have been said.

            "Crookshanks, why do people think I'm so brilliant? A more appropriate term would be remarkably stupid."

            The cat-kneazle made a noise of half interest and rubbed his nose with his paw. She barely noticed, however, still immersed in her own thinking.

            Snowflakes were falling lightly outside her window. The sky was gray, and she vaguely thought how appropriate it was for her mood. She could barely see anything due to the fog making her window opaque. She was glad. She didn't want to see anything, not at the moment.

            She sighed again and ran her fingers through Crookshank's fur. In all reality, reason had evaded her the previous afternoon, and her anger might have been uncalled for. But it had been there, alive and fiery and completely mind-boggling at the same time. It had been unbearable for her to see the blocks she'd been building up in her relationship with Ron come crashing down because of someone from her past.

            It wasn't that she was angry with Lennie for what had happened. She'd had no way of knowing how Hermione felt about Ron—Hermione cringed just thinking of the feeling, stronger, it seemed, now than before—and hadn't thought to not be involved with him. But Ron…Hermione had a vague assumption that he knew fairly well how she felt and she'd thought perhaps he harbored the same feelings.

            Perhaps that was what had angered her so much. She'd been hoping for much too long that she was reading the right signs. And apparently, she hadn't. She had been dangling on a line that Ron had thrown her. Oh, every time she thought about him she couldn't help but smile and still feel like pelting rocks at his head.

            "Git," she muttered, setting Crookshanks down. He meowed in protest and slinked way, bottlebrush tail in the air; he leapt up onto the bad and settled down next to Pygmalion. The little dog looked pale and quiet. Hermione looked away.

            Tilting her head to one said, she cradled it on her left hand, propping her elbow on the windowsill. The skin on her arm grazed the window's glass, cold and frozen and clumped with trapped snowflakes. The bloody snowflakes—they stopped her from distinguishing which gray was sky and which was land.

            All she wanted to do—and had been trying to convince herself to do—was talk to Ron. She was annoyed at her own stupidity at leaving things the way they were, and for having confused him that way. But she couldn't say anything to him. She knew she'd be able to get up and find him and march up to him and open her mouth to speak; but then she would remember the pain she'd seen in his eyes the day before and wouldn't be able to utter a word. And then he'd be even more hurt, wrongly thinking that she didn't want to apologize.

            _A book should be made, customized for me, on tips on solving all the stupid petty problems. _The room suddenly seemed stifling. She snatched her wand from where it lay beside her; pointing it at the window, she murmured, "_Abrasir!_" The window burst open, and cold winter air hit her face. It was so cold it stung her cheeks, but she didn't care. A snowflake landed on her nose. She wiped it away and set her chin on the windowsill, looking out at the snowy grounds before her, so unlike Hogwarts's.

            She wished she could stay at her window all day and ponder on everything that had happened to her since she'd realized she wouldn't be able to lead a normal life. Although many would expect that day to have been the day when an owl had flown into her room and she'd discovered she was a witch, like in the books she'd always read. But in her mind's eye, she didn't see that day as the one that represented the awkward change into an unexpected life.

            It had been November 1, 1991, a cold morning very much like this one, except the only thing she'd felt at the time was joyful disbelief. It was the morning she'd realized that she was one of Harry Potter's friends (and Ron Weasley came along with that, but she couldn't have anticipated everything to do with him). As much as she'd hated thinking of it the way she had, she'd seen it as the day she knew her life would be a dangerous one.

            But when Harry had saved the Sorcerer's Stone in their first year, she'd considered that maybe Harry would always be there to protect her, and Ron too, and so maybe being his friend wouldn't be so hard. It wouldn't be easy, that she knew; but perhaps they would be safer than she had thought.

            That was when she was a child, when she thought that the deepest wounds would be physical. That was before she'd felt panic grip her when Ron screamed about Sirius Black's attempt to murder him. It was before she'd seen Harry come out of the maze in their fourth year, holding on to a lifeless Cedric and looking just about as lifeless himself. It was before she'd been chased by Death Eaters around a place where all should have been in order, before she'd realized that being a Muggle born put her in grave danger, before she came to understand that Harry was not the only one who lost those he loved.

            So it hadn't been easy, but she'd expected that. It hadn't been as hard as she had expected. No, it had been much harder, and it was harder with each passing day, with each fresh nightmare and each time she remembered never to go anywhere without her wand.

            And Ron was an entirely different story. Ron was the most complicated person she knew (only Crookshanks had come close to beating him). No matter what, she knew she would never understand him. And that was another aspect of her life that was so hard. How she tried to interpret Ron's actions and words, but found oxymoronic meanings to all of them. It was frustrating, that he could be her own best friend and she still couldn't quite understand him. And it was so difficult to be able to picture him so clearly, fiery redhead with a temper to match, and still blush at the mere mental image of him.

            Her heart gave a jolt. Through her frozen eyelashes she thought she could see a shape moving in the mini blizzard. She rubbed her eyes to get the frost off her eyelids and slapped her cheeks to bring back some of the feeling. Then she sat up and looked closely at the moving face. And then she saw red.

            It was mostly literally, seeing red, but it was a little figurative. She saw a mass of red hair floating about in the sea of gray white—it would have been quite funny if it hadn't been under the certain circumstances (circumstances that didn't involve being able to cut the tension with a knife), seeing a mop of messy red hair moving about seemingly on its own. She saw red because she knew Ron was walking around outside and she was mad that she couldn't get herself to go down to talk to him and she was exasperated that she'd noticed him in the first place—and, honestly, she'd even looked closely enough to figure out he was wearing his maroon Weasley sweater—and she was exhausted from constantly thinking about him.

            Crookshanks purred. She turned to see him giving her his ever-popular cat smirk that she'd finally been able to recognize as a smirk (without the lips, of course).

            When she turned back to the window, she noticed the wind had died down and the snowflakes had taken to falling slowly vertically rather than being thrown around by the angry wind. And now she could see him clearly, pacing in front of the tree with his hands jammed in his pockets. She'd been right about the sweater.

            Despite the fact that her room was on the second floor, she could see him pretty clearly now, because her window faced the tree directly. She tried to look away when his gaze met hers. She couldn't.

            His nose was red, probably from the cold, and his freckles stood out more than usual. She felt her eyes frozen on his, and time stopped, so that the night that had passed could become the lifetime she had felt.

            And then she blinked, and it was Christmas Eve still and the snowflakes kept falling and he kept looking. But she didn't. Her wand still in her hand, she pointed it at the window and whispered, "_Ceracir_!"

            The window closed, and she left her place beside it.

**Ginny**

_It is such a secret place, the land of tears._

_--Antoine de Saint Exupery_

From the Diary of Ginevra Molly Weasley

December24, 1996, 3 p.m.

            This is the first year Mum has ever had to knit one less sweater for our family. This is the first year she hasn't fussed about how best to send mince pies to Egypt without using Errol. This is the first year Bill hasn't sent a Christmas card, standing in front of some pyramid with a big Bill grin on his face.

            It makes me so mad.

            I know it selfish. I know I should be thankful that I still have almost everyone in my family here and that I'm not alone. I feel selfish, being mad because one loved one has left my life, because Harry's lost damn near everyone. And Lupin—he still looks shaken about Sirius, and he's pretty much alone too. I feel selfish because I only start to understand how unfair all this is when someone close to ME dies.

            But the thing is, Bill wasn't just anybody. He taught me so much, and he was the only one of my brothers who didn't tease me or make fun of me when I was younger. I still can't believe that I'll never be able to talk to him again. Sometimes, when I'm sitting alone in my room at night, I start thinking about him. About all the stuff I'll never get to talk to him about. Like I'll hear some funny joke or something but I won't be able to write a letter to him to tell him my joke or to ask if he's seen any interesting mummies or if he's gonna come visit soon. I don't get to measure his ponytail and see it get gradually longer and Mum get gradually scowlier about it. I won't get to anticipate what kind of cool stuff he might be bringing home from Egypt because, hello, he's not in Egypt and he's not at Gringotts in Diagon Alley and he's not here at home. He's dead.

            I hate that I took him for granted. He was my big brother, he was always gonna be there. I didn't have to tell him about the DA and how fun it was or how I wanted him to be really happy with Fleur or about how Ron and Hermione were so tense around each other (still are, for that matter, the fools). I talked only about everyday things, like he would be here years from now to listen to _those _everyday things…and apparently, he's not. I didn't realize that even the young can die, and that really, really, _really _sucks.

            At Bill's funeral, Harry told me that Dumbledore had once said to him that the ones who love us never truly leave us. He said it's what has helped him stop blaming himself for Sirius, and stop thinking of the "what if"s about his parents. So that's what I try to think about when I start getting depressed about Bill…I try to imagine where he is at that moment. Maybe he could be prancing around Mum downstairs, waving his ponytail around and grinning. Or maybe he's sitting right next to me and reading this as I write it, and he's glad that I'm not crying and that I still love him very very much.

            But sometimes I do have to cry. Like whenever I walk in on Mum cleaning the picture frames on the shelf, I get all teary…just because she's standing there, holding Bill's picture and just looking at it. And something really small like that makes me sad, because it kind of makes me think that the only form of Bill we have now are only pictures and memories. Ad even though the pictures can move, and the memories are pretty vivid, they're not the same. Because you can't make new pictures or new memories with someone that's not there.

            Harry told me that he used to be afraid to cry. He never told anyone but he was afraid, because he didn't want to let everyone think he was weak, because he thought that we all expected him to always be strong and brave. But then when Sirius died, he couldn't keep it in anymore…he said that when he cried about Sirius, it was like he was crying for him and more. He said he felt like he was crying for his parents and for the life he's had, sometimes, just because he didn't cry about those things before. And he said that that's when he realized that he couldn't keep all those feelings pent up because it just made things hurt worse; he said that's when he realized that crying really helped. So he told me I should just cry if I needed to, because even though it wouldn't bring back (and I got that all the time when I was a kid, when my baby kneazle died—Mum said, "Crying's not going to bring him back!" but I wanted to cry anyway), it would help.

            I'm really glad I've gotten so close to Harry. I'm not sure what I would do without him. He's kind of the only thing around here that really gives me hope, as cheesy and stupid as that sounds. And it's not because he's the Boy Who Lived or because he's escaped Voldemort so much or anything. It's just because he talks to me. He makes me forget that there's all this shit going on around us but at the same time he makes sure I'm aware of it. When he's around me, he's protecting me an all, but he's also around me because he wants to be around me. Nobody's telling him to do it, no one's forcing him to be nice to me; he just is. And I think he really cares about me, in a way I never thought he would. When I sent him that singing Valentine in my first year, when I poured my heart out into one stupid little poem, I never thought that I'd ever actually be kissing Harry Potter and that he'd be kissing me back! And, you know, back then I only liked him because he was Harry Potter. It was how Hermione liked Lockhart that same year; it was a crush, because of the reputation they had been given. But after I finally _met _Harry…when I actually figured out that he wasn't just a heroic face, but a _person_, that's when I really fell for him (and I suppose the same happened to Hermione…she kind of saw Ron, and, well, the rest is still at work for now). Every time I think of Harry, I'm really thankful that I had that first "celebrity crush" on him, because if I hadn't, then maybe I would have never noticed him. Well…I wouldn't go as far as to say _never_, but it would have taken more time.

            He's certainly a better boyfriend than Michael. Michael was just kind of there. He never really seemed to look forward to being around me or anything. It was just, whenever we were together, we were together, nothing more. But with Harry, it's different. When we're together, it's like everything in the world is right. Well, my world. All I can do is hope that maybe I bring Harry some happiness. He needs it now. That's why I try never to mention Bill and start crying in front of him, because even though I know he wouldn't ever mind my tears, I think he might blame himself a bit for Bill's death. Which isn't the right thing to do, because there's no one to blame but the assholes who did it. But I think he knows that he's really helping when he just sits there with me, hugging me. And it does help, a lot, even though the only person who will ever understand the full reason behind any of my tears is me. I mean, he knows that when I cry it's because of Bill, but I think when I cry I let go of some of the other stuff that hurts but doesn't hurt enough to cry about…and it only comes out when I _am _crying, even though I'm not just crying because of that…

            Oh, man, I make too little sense.

            Sometimes I start thinking that it's a little ironic. That when I finally got Harry, I lost Bill. But I don't like to think of things that way. I haven't really lost Bill, he's just not here. But just cuz he's not here doesn't mean he's not here…

            Yeah, too little sense…

            Oh, who cares how much sense I make, as long as I understand it. It's not like anyone else reads this…

6 p.m.

I forgot to say…Happy Christmas.

**Ron**

_You might belong in Gryffindor_

_Where dwell the brave at heart_

_Their daring nerve and chivalry_

_Set Gryffindors apart_

_--The Sorting Hat, Philosopher's Stone_

         His breath rose in the form of vapor before his eyes as he sat with his back against the side of the Granger house. The back of his jacket was wet from the snow dripping down the wall of the house, and his jeans were soaked from having sat for over an hour with the snow gradually piling up around him. But he really didn't care.

            Scowling for such a long time hurt; his jaw was sore. But he hadn't stopped scowling since he'd walked past Lennie the previous afternoon after Hermione had all but killed him. Lennie had asked what had happened, and he'd just said, "It's bullshit," then walked to his room and slammed the door. A while later, Harry and Lennie both had been at his door, wondering if he'd want to talk. He'd thrown a shoe at the door and they had obviously realized that he was not in the mood for talking.

            He actually couldn't remember having said a word ever since.

            The tree where they had been standing just a day before was right in front of him, vying for a replay of events in his mind. His scowl worsened as he picked up a clump of snow, made it round, and then threw it as hard as he could at the trunk of the tree.

            He sighed. At the moment, he really regretted having turned down his friends' offer to talk, because he was completely clueless as to what to do. He ran a damp hand through his hair and then slid down so he was lying in the snow.

            The sky was the palest of grays, but it was by no means white. _Great, now maybe if you could use your brain to figure something out instead of describing the sky, we could get somewhere. _He groaned at mere prospect of finding an answer to the mess he'd created. There were too many ends that didn't meet; he had nowhere to start.

            He closed his eyes and tried to picture what Hermione had done. Her eyes had been angry, very angry…but she was hurt. He just couldn't figure out what kind of hurt. She might have been offended that he'd said he liked to spend time with Lennie and in turn had ignored his friend…but he had a feeling that wasn't quite it.

            His eyes opened and blinked in the pale brightness that contrasted drastically with the darkness he'd been seeing behind his eyelids. He put his cold hands on his face and tried to think. In doing so, his arms itched, and he hated the thought scars more than ever.

            And by thinking of the scars, his mind traveled back to an image that wasn't real, a memory that hadn't really ever happened. He bit his lip, watching the image play out in his mind in disgust (mostly in himself for enjoying it). He hated everything that that image represented because, as of the previous afternoon, he knew he could never have it.

            "Dammit," he croaked, his throat parched from lack of use. He needed to figure something out, soon.

            Quite suddenly, a small sparrow landed a few feet away from him. It pranced around in circles for a bit, leaving tiny marks in the snow. He scowled at the bird when it chirped a soft, clear trill. He did not want any careless joy around him at the moment, and so he scowled as much as he could at the bird.

            The little sparrow kept jumping about, cocking its head from side to side; it began to sing. He rolled his eyes. "Sod off," he said, waving a hand. The sparrow flew back a little, but then landed again and chirped happily at him.

            Ron watched it, the scowl slowly leaving his features, until he was just concentrating on the rather tiny bird walking around the snow. There were a couple of places where the snow was too deep, and so its minute feet sank. It would cheep at the snow for a few seconds before beating its wings and freeing himself. And every time he did so, it would tweet happily and ruffle its wings. And Ron couldn't help but smile, out of nowhere; he found it so pleasant to watch such a small animal be able to stay content, even when the entire world around him was frozen.

            And then it hit him: he had to tell her.

            She wanted him to tell her. Because there was no way that what she had said about the guys of Hogwarts could be true.

            Because he was a guy, and he went to Hogwarts.

            He grinned at the sparrow, who was now nibbling on a single blade of grass poking through a shallow spot in the snow. He grinned because he finally understood, after all the time of sitting alone, staring at the ceiling, and seeing things but never _really _seeing them.

            _Something finally penetrated your thick skull._

Except even that voice in his head was even happy. 

            He knew what he had to do. Hermione had been testing him by asking him if he agreed to having done something wrong, but even now she was testing him. She wanted him to come to her and apologize and finally tell her, after so many years.

            But how was he supposed to do it?

            He sprang to his feet and jammed his hands in his pockets. He looked at the tree, thinking of what he could do to prepare himself for what he was planning to do. His feet began taking him back and forth in front of the tree. Perhaps the pacing would help him think…

            Could he _really _do such a thing? There were consequences. He hadn't ever been the type to concern himself with consequences, but now was a good a time as any to change that. This was definitely something that could change the way they both lived their lives.

            Supposing he'd thought wrong…supposing she didn't feel the same way…it would be a complete disaster if he told her and that was so. Because, if it happened that way, they wouldn't be able to be regular friends; there would be no pretending that it hadn't happened.

            But, no, there was a feeling, and a strong feeling at that, that told him he _was _right, for once. Hermione had always been like a game of chess to him. He knew chess, very well, and he knew that even though things could go wrong in chess, there were always methods to fixing those errors and still win. He'd messed up the previous afternoon, but now was his chance to get back in the game. This situation just called for some strategy formulating. He had her in check at the moment, and she had no way of getting out of it…one more move and, checkmate, he could win her over.

            But what move was it to be?

            The straightforward approach would never be his forte…but dancing around the subject wasn't his area of expertise either. He remembered something that he'd once heard his mother say to Charlie: "Faint heart never won fair lady." _And what the bloody hell is that supposed to mean? _

            He actually had never been able to figure that out. But he supposed it had something to do with bravery, and taking chances. In chess, you take chances and make sacrifices and…_sometimes they're for the best_.

            Gryffindors…the brave at heart. That's what the Sorting Hat had said at their Sorting Ceremony. He wasn't quite sure how he remembered that, but the Ceremony had been a bit important and, he supposed, had become implanted in his memory. He'd never really considered himself brave; not really. But just because he didn't strut around vanquishing evil didn't mean he _wasn't _brave.

            "I'm brave," he said to himself, his voice shaking slightly.

            _Their daring never and chivalry set Gryffindors apart…_

            Well, it was finally his time to be set apart. He stopped pacing and looked up at the window of the room he knew to be Hermione. Surprisingly, a face was staring back at him. Granted, it was a very serious face, but it was she, nonetheless. His stomach churned, like he'd drunk too many Fizzing Whizbees, and he knew his face must look quite as solemn as hers did. But inside he was giving himself a bit of a pep talk, like preparing himself for Quidditch (except it wasn't quite as pushy as Angelina's pep talks). He locked eyes with her, and in those few moments, he knew he would have to take a risk. After all, there had to be risks worth taking.

            Hermione looked away, and closed her window. He felt his heart sink, but didn't let that stop him from making his decision final. He believed more in the positive outcome of his decision, and so he did not wish to dwell on the possibility of complete chaos. He would just have to suck it up and go through with it.

            "Check," he muttered under his breath. And he started trudging through the snow toward the door of the Granger house.

A/n: All right, sorry if it's terrible or short or whatever…but please review!!! 8)


	9. Hiding

A/n: I'm glad you all didn't up and abandon me after it took so long for me to update. To make it up to you guys, I got straight to work on this chapter, which is very much another half to Chapter 8. I'm very much looking forward to the chapter after this one, it's going to be huge. But anyway…I hope you guys enjoy this one as much as you joined Chapter 8.

K, my British reader: Wow, I have a British reader! I wanted you to know that I really really appreciate your comment and your corrections. As soon as I get a chance to, I'll go back and change them. I'm actually gonna visit London next April, so maybe then I might get more used to everything in British terms. =P

WMG: Just wanted to say that JKR mentioned, on that chat she had on World Book Day (I think it was that…anyway, it was a huge chat), that Ginny's middle name was Molly and that her first name was Ginevra, not Virginia. But thanks for noticing that I put that name in, cuz it means a lot (since I know you're paying attention :::wink:::).

To the rest of you—I love you to death, and I wish I could make a comment to each of you, but this little bit (I know, I should get on with the chapter…) is to just let you guys know that it really does mean the world to me when you comment. So please keep doing it. Hehe.

Disclaimer: I wish.

**NSH **

**Chapter 9: Hiding**

Harry 

_Masquerade_

Paper faces on parade 

_Masquerade_

_Hide your face so the world will never find you_

_--The Phantom of the Opera, "Masquerade"_

          They were at it again. Both of them miserable, keeping as far away from each other as possible, avoiding a solution but all the while thinking of one anyway. They were at it again.

            Harry walked into the Grangers' library, slamming the door behind him. They really pissed him off, Ron and Hermione, when they started fighting. They always had all these stupid rows about equally stupid stuff. According to what Lennie had told him, Hermione was _jealous_. He laughed weakly under his breath.

            It served them right, for dancing around the subject for so long.

            He paced around the library, glancing at the bookshelves on all the walls, trying to understand why he was so mad at them. Well, he knew, but he didn't understand entirely why it bothered him so much.

            Lennie had just left, and so he had no one to talk to. But he didn't think talking it out could help too much. He sank into an armchair next to a small table and closed his eyes.

            There were always little things that nagged at the back of his mind. He hated them. They usually consisted of things he would have preferred not to think about: Sirius, the prophecy, the mirror, Snape's memory, Voldemort…everything that made him squirm, or hate himself, or hate everything. But the worst part about them was that not thinking about them didn't work; they still bothered him and made him want to rip his head from his body so he wouldn't have to associate with them.

            A sigh shook his body as he was consumed by thoughts of the dark present. It wasn't even the goddamn future and it was already dark. He scowled; he was used to it, and he hated that, too. His entire life had been shitty, so he really couldn't complain about the present. Except, of course, for the fact that he knew he was either the murderer or the murdered.

            His hand became a fist, and it came down on the arm of the chair, hard and angry. He kept himself in that position, his fist pressed down against the tough leather of the chair, his head down, his breathing heavy, for many minutes, all the while trying to get rid of a lump that was forming in his throat. He felt all the energy from his body flowing to where his fist met the chair, and it seemed like it was a door of escape, because soon he felt drained and weak.

            He always felt weak.

            The fingers in his hand softened from the grip he had them in, and his hand went limp on the arm of the chair. With his other hand, he wiped the sweat on his forehead and then let it sit in his lap.

            He hated how everyone thought that he was so strong. He wasn't. He wasn't strong. And nobody could even start to see that, not even Ron and Hermione. Everyone thought he was strong and brave, this right little soldier for not crumbling about Sirius' death. Like the Weasleys weren't brave because a member of their family had died, but he was because he hadn't killed himself or something over Sirius' demise. It was ridiculous and he hated that description of himself, "strong." The word was nothing more than a physical description that everyone thought was emotional, but it wasn't. It was just a stupid word and it could never, would never, describe him.

            He stood up, and then wanted to sit back down. He didn't. He just stood, feeling how tense the muscles in his body were, how he was so alert about everything, even though he didn't always have to be.

            But he did.

            He didn't like when they fought. After everything that had happened, he'd thought Hermione would have been sensible enough to understand. Ron should have understood perfectly after Bill's death. But they didn't. They thought that it was a guarantee that they could just close their eyes and be able to open them again when the sun streaked in past their eyelids the next morning. They thought it was a guarantee.

            But it wasn't.

            It wasn't for anyone.

            Voldemort, maybe.

            No, not even him. He was still some figment of a human. He was still some sort of Tom Riddle. Why else would Dumbledore call him that? Despite his transformations, despite all the magic, he was still another half-blood wizard, another man, another life. Piece of shit of a life, that was true. But a life nonetheless. A life that could be taken.

            His scar stung.

            A life that could be taken. Only by him, that is, only by Harry Potter. It was all because of some damned prophecy that old bat had made. She wasn't even a real Seer, with the exception of those two occurrences, but he still had to arrange his life to fit her stupid prophecy.

            The murderer or the murdered.

            He really didn't think he would be on the good side of that. He'd be at the wrong end of the wrong wand, his brother wand. And there would be no phoenix song, no golden threads, no translucent silhouettes of dead people—his dead parents—, no Dumbledore, no gravestones. Only Voldemort, Tom Riddle, You-Know-Who, the Dark Lord, whoever the hell he was, all in front of his, killing him and laughing and winning and killing.

            And Ron and Hermione found it all right to have another little row, despite it all.

             He turned and kicked his right foot into the armchair, hard and angry, a grunt issuing from his mouth. His scar still prickled, but it always did, it was its way to breathe and show him it was still alive and would be and he would probably die before it did, and even when he was dead he would still have the dreadful thing on his forehead, still proclaiming him the Boy Who Lived For A While, the dead hero who let down everyone who had believed in him, and it would be known everywhere for what it had stood for, and people would be awed by it, but disgusted at the mention of his name.

            A shudder took him, just as the force of his kick to the chair sent it skidding back, knocking the side table over. A box that had sat atop the table hit the floor with a deafening clang that hurt Harry's ears; it seemed to hurt his scar, the noise was so loud.

            He stood panting, his hands in fists, his leg still out where he had kicked the chair. The box lay on the floor, still closed. It must have been locked. It lay there, and he watched it. And he decided to open it.

            He flung himself on the ground, knocking his own breath out of his chest so he coughed and had to hold a stitch in his side. _I hate breathing_. He reached for the box. When his hand found it, he brought it to his lap and set it there to examine it.

            It was mahogany, with no intricate design, but with a small monkey on top. He was surprised he hadn't noticed the monkey when it had fallen to the floor. The monkey wore a red vest and hat, and on his hands were tiny cymbals. It stared out ahead, not looking at him. _Good_. The monkey wouldn't know him. The monkey wouldn't see him.

            The little box had a latch at the very front. He'd thought it was locked, but when he tried the latch, it opened easily. He lifted the top of the box and realized it must be a music box about a second before the music started playing.

            It was a nice melody, happy, very suitable for a music box. In the middle of the box was a monkey like the one on top of the music box, but much smaller, and when the music started, it clapped its hands together so that the cymbals made a tiny clink. There were words engraved into the bottom of the lid of the music box. He started reading them when the voice began to sing.

Masquerade 

_Paper faces on parade_

_Masquerade_

_Hide your face so the world will never find you_

            A low voice was singing, a voice that sounded like it wanted to be sinister but was very hurt. Kind of how he felt. Like he wanted to hit everyone, to knock sense into them, to make them understand that they should quit messing with their problems and start enjoying whatever life they had before it was taken away.

            But he was indeed very hurt.

            He closed the music box. There seemed to be something lodged in his throat, something that made it hurt and hard to swallow. A lump, Muggles called it, a lump in his throat. Like it was trying to bar his breathing so he would hurt more than he already did.

            Every single time he closed his eyes he could see the darkness that everyone else saw. But seconds later he'd see a green light, so blinding he wanted to close his eyes and see darkness, except his eyes were already closed, and no matter how tight he shut them, the light was still intense and blinding and green. And then he'd see himself. Just himself, standing right in front of him, just like if he had been looking in a mirror.

            And he had.

            He was the last thing he had seen in that mirror, and so it was the only thing he could see when he stopped looking at everything else. Himself. He looked like his father, he looked like James Potter, and everyone said so, and everyone knew so. But he wasn't James, he wasn't anything like James, he hated knowing James because he wasn't James. And then his eyes. His green eyes, almost as green as that light. "Your mother's eyes," everyone always told him. But they weren't her eyes. She hadn't seen what he had seen. She'd seen so much worse and so much better. He wanted her eyes, but he didn't have him. The eyes were his, and they were what let him see that reflection, and he hated them. And then his scar. The lightning bolt shape engraved into his skin, his skull, his mind. It would always be there, and it seemed to be the only thing that was really his. And he hated it. So whenever he would notice it in his closed eyes, whenever he perceived it so clearly he must be looking in that mirror again, he opened his eyes and pulled his bangs down over it. Then he'd sit there and hoped he would stop looking like James or that James would be a different person, and that he could take the green out of his eyes and give it back to his mother's sightless ones so maybe she could see him again.

            It was the last thing he'd seen in that mirror.

            That's why he'd shattered it. He knew, even as he said Sirius's name, that he wouldn't see him. He would be behind the mirror, because he was behind the veil. So he knew, and when Sirius did not come, he was not surprised. He was angry, hurt, upset, yes, but not surprised. But he'd still waited, because maybe Sirius hadn't liked it behind the veil, the whispering had bothered him, there had been too little light, so he'd come back and he'd talk to Harry through the mirror. He'd waited, just like he had in the Death Room. But just like in the Death Room, Sirius hadn't come. It had just been Harry, taking up all the space in the mirror so Sirius couldn't get in even if he had come. It had been Harry, looking like James and trying to see like Lily and being the murderer or the murdered.

            That's why he'd shattered it.

            But even shattered he could still see a distorted image of himself in it, lying on the ground in all those pieces. He opened the music box again, though he must have had his glasses off (but he knew he didn't, because they were heavy on the bridge of his nose) because everything was blurry and his eyes hurt.

            It had been him in all the shards, each one something that he'd shattered, that he'd destroyed. Each one a life that he'd taken, involuntarily.

Masquerade 

His parents, gone, maybe waiting for him behind the veil or in Priori Incantatem or in a memory in a secret Pensieve.

Paper faces on parade 

Snape, a little boy in the corner, crying, a boy trying to mount a bucking broomstick, a man with a mark he hated but couldn't get rid of, a hero, and his name wasn't Harry Potter.

Masquerade 

Sirius, lost somewhere he didn't know, a dog with no footprints, alone without Remus or Harry or James, locked in Azkaban again, dead and innocent but still looked upon as guilty.

Hide your face so the world will never find you 

Harry. He could still see his face in the broken mirror. He closed the music box, and then hid his face in the white palms of his hands.

Neville 

And I am flawed 

_But I am cleaning up so well_

_I am seeing in me now the things you_

_Swore you saw yourself_

_--Dashboard Confessional, "Vindicated"_

            The small glass ball sat on its stool on his desk. It had been there since his third year. He hadn't wanted to use it anymore. It had been a gift, yes, and it _had _been very expensive. But he didn't want to use it, ever. He didn't need something to tell him what he had to do, or to remind him of just how rarely his brain decided to function.

            He'd stopped using it in third year. The day after Sirius Black broke into the Gryffindor dormitory, he had almost shattered the Remembrall. It had been in his fingers, shining bright red, and this time he _did _remember what he'd forgotten. He had stood in front of the lake with the Remembrall in his hand, his arm raised, ready to fling the cursed thing into the dark water. But he didn't. Because he knew he was still absentminded, even if he hated being that way. So he kept it, but he didn't use it. He'd brought it home that year and left it, to collect dust on his desk.

            Even now, sitting back against his pillow on his bed, he glared at it. Every single time he looked at it he thought of himself sitting in St. Mungo's next to his parents' beds. He looked at the Remembrall and saw the way he couldn't remember the things that he himself did. He looked at it and wished that maybe he could one day forget what had happened to his parents, and if he held the Remembrall, it would turn red, but he still wouldn't remember.

            They didn't remember him. He didn't have to remember them.

            He drew his hand across his face, feeling tired despite the fact that it was only midday. He always felt tired, lately. Just because he was trying so hard.

            Life sucked. Most of the memories he had of life were being humiliated at school by everyone, even those who tried to be nice to him, or of being in St. Mungo's, hiding away and trying to make his parents look at him instead of his new jacket and whatnot. He really didn't have a nice outlook on his life. It all was a blur of things he'd rather forget. But, apparently, he couldn't forget that either.

            Things were starting to look up, though. All because of the DA, really. He had Harry to thank, for believing that such a stupid kid like him could learn spells that Harry had used against You-Know-Who himself. Harry had always been nice to him, either out of pity or just because it was in his nature. Heroes were supposed to be kind to those inferior to them.

            Every time he cast a spell now, he actually believed he had magic in his blood. It was like he could feel it. Performing magic now made him think that maybe he could be some of the wizard his father had been before the torture, that maybe he had some form of power in him. He'd worked hard all the time the previous year in the DA, thinking of his dad and the possibility that he could live up to the man whose wand he had used.

            Then he'd gone and gotten that wand broken. He had felt like a failure, a disgrace to his father, even if he could never recognize him. He could still remember the day that his grandmother had passed the box to him, the day after he had bounced and shown "his first signs of magic." The box had been elegant, made of blue velvet, and he hadn't known what to make of it. He had just stared at it, and then stroked the velvet, and when he'd opened it and found his father's wand, legendary in his family, he had held it forever. It had all just hypnotized him, to know that he was magical after all, that he wouldn't stain the name of the all-magical Longbottom family. So it had made him motivated from that moment; he would be a wizard that his family would be proud to speak of, proud to acknowledge as their family member.

            And there he had gone and done the opposite.

            He'd let himself be stupid enough to deserve a Howler. He'd been vulnerable enough to let people hex him and embarrass him for fun. He was terrible in class and forgetful all the time, and constantly, he would have people laughing about it, at him. He'd become exactly what his father wasn't. He was what his grandmother hadn't wanted him to be. She'd raved about her son countless times; sometimes, she would tell the same story three nights in a row in the summertime, and he would have to sit through them, gritting his teeth and hating who he was.

            Flawed, completely flawed. None of what he was expected to be.

            But he had grown really tired of it. He wanted so desperately to have his family praise him, instead of shooting him looks of disgust at Christmas parties. He wanted to cast a spell and have it work, not turn into a disaster. So he'd worked as hard as he could in the DA, ignoring everyone's expectations of failure for him. And it had actually worked, most of the time. He'd mastered some spells in the DA, and now, he'd manage to learn a complex one, all by himself, one he knew he would use on the next Death Eater that tried to hurt his friends or family. He had gone and found how to perform the spell that one Death Eater had used to hurt Hermione, all so he could show those bastards that he wasn't some pathetic, worthless kid. He was Neville Longbottom, and he was finally accepting it without shame.

            He was starting to show the world that, despite all the doubts and fears, he meant something and he could make himself proud, even if he didn't make anyone else proud. He could look in the mirror now and not have to hide from whatever it was that he did not want to see. He could close his eyes and see himself immersed in the magical world, holding a wand, feeling magic ooze through every part of him, and know that no mark left by the horrors of his parents' state could stop him from being what he had always aspired to be.

            Now, finally, he could hold his own wand, knowing that it was his and he could be somebody. He knew that know he was some sort of young man that his grandmother had seen in him before he'd become the humiliating Neville. Now, finally, he was able to see those qualities in himself.

            He wasn't hiding, and he wouldn't hide ever again.

            There would always be a hurtful past for him to look at, and his parents would always be forgetful children with no Remembrall powerful enough to help them recover. But he could finally accept that he was Neville, and would always be Neville, and that he could be much more than anyone would think, even if the entire world doubted him.

            He was free.

            He was strong.

            He was real.

            He was Neville, and he wasn't hiding.

Lennie 

_Wherever you go, go with all your heart._

_--Confucius_

            Lennie Hunter drew the branches of the bush away from her face. The snow that had been dwelling on the branch tumbled down onto her lap, dampening her dark jeans. She wiped them away and looked up. Her mother was still fumbling in the frozen garden, trying to clear the snow for her plants to flourish. Lennie rolled her eyes. She didn't quite understand why her mother did it; there was no point, the snow would just come back later, and sooner or later she'd get tired of cleaning it.

            But then, she was also rolling her eyes at herself, hiding in a bush in front of her own house from her own mother. She had good reason too, despite the ridiculousness of the situation. She hated spending time with her mother mid-afternoon, when all she could do was try to clean up the house in time for dinner or talk about how happy she was that her brother had just been praised yet again at school. So when her mother had made her way outside half an hour before, she'd come and sat behind the bush.

            She leaned back against the brick wall of her house, terribly cold from the surrounding snow. The sky was slate-gray, almost white; it was a little hard to look up at it for too long. Against the sky, the snow looked almost brown. She looked down at her hands, sitting on her lap in their purple mittens. She had awoken that morning with the purpose of visiting Hermione and helping her sort things out. There was a part of her that had known that Harry would be there for her one way or another, even if it wasn't right away, and that he would help Hermione make amends with Ron. They always did.

            The other part of her, though, really missed being able to give Hermione advice. She missed given advice entirely, since her family never asked it of her, always saying she was too reckless to give good enough advice. She'd thought perhaps Hermione would welcome her advice with open arms, she knew she would. She always had.

            She hadn't gone, though. She'd been planning it all day but she hadn't done it. Oh, she knew _why _well enough, but she really did not feel like admitting it to herself. Why cause more headaches when she was trying to minimize them?

            "Lennie!"

            Her eyes widened. The sharp voice cut through her thoughts. She looked up to see her mother with her hands on her hips, her trowel in her right hand. There was a scowl on her face and snow in her hair.  _She won't like that_, Lennie thought, but didn't say anything. She just waited with almost boredom for her mother to scold her. She was used to it.

            "What in the name of the Lord are you doing, sitting behind that bush? Shouldn't you be doing some of the homework you have for holiday?" Her mother, even, sounded bored by the process. But she still did it because Lennie was the child to be scolded. That was the way her mother had let it become.

            Lennie sighed. "I'll do it later. There's not much of it to do anyway."

            "Still!" her mother said shrilly. "'Don't put off till tomorrow what you can do today.'"

            Lennie suppressed herself from throwing her mother a withering look. She didn't understand why her mother used phrases that she herself hated. But she did.

            "Yes, I _could _do it today," Lennie answered. "I just choose not to." She gave her mother an utterly fake smile and went back to observing the snow. Her mother would give up, sooner or later. She never "wasted" too much time on Lennie anyway.

            "I hope your father's right, Lennie, and this is just a phase. I'm getting very tired of your reluctance to take any advice that I give you."

            Lennie stared at her gloved hands. Her mother had stopped giving her advice a long time ago, when she'd decided to play football rather than become involved in the debate team at her school. But she still remembered the days when her mother would suggest what she should eat and she would do it. Her mother used to tell her to get dressed and she would try to find an outfit that would almost match her mother's. She had been very small then, though, and hadn't figured out who she was. She hadn't known that she didn't have to be told what to do, that her mother did not have to arrange her life for her.

            Her mother was a good person, even if she was so cold to her. She was always making the decisions that would affect her children the best. The spring break holidays she always planned accommodated everyone, even if she didn't spend too much time accommodating them herself. But she tried, so Lennie didn't hate her. Not at all. But she always wished that her mother could maybe understand some of the things that went through her mind without doubting them right from the off.

            She'd never been one to understand why Lennie loved her favorite movie, _A Little Princess_, quite so much, just because the movie was so fused with magic. Her mother had always said, when Lennie tried to find a shining, glowing gold robe to wear, that she wouldn't wake up to her room in golden drapes and hearty meals; that it would still be the same room. Lennie would insist though, but her mother wouldn't listen. She never did.

            She inquired about her school life, though. It intrigued her; the teachers, the kids, the material. Lennie told her about it all. It was her means of talking to her mother, and, however primitive, she appreciated it. She just wanted more of it, and wanted less of it to involve such a superficial subject as school.             

            "Lennie, get up out of the snow, you'll catch a cold." Her mother's voice again cut through her thoughts, but this time it was softer, not quite so scolding. She looked up to see her kneeling before her, trowel at her feet.

            "I've got my scarf and jumper. I'll be all right."

            Her mother shook her head. "It's too cold out. I wouldn't mind you walking around the yard but, Lennie, just sitting there? You'll catch a cold."

            Vision blurry, Lennie answered, "I—was going to go to Hermione's soon."

            Her mother's eyebrows knitted together. "Why? Weren't you there just yesterday?"

            She blinked; she could see clearly again and felt no cold trails on her cheeks. She was quite good at this, after so much practice. "Mum…I haven't spent time with Hermione since her first year at boarding school. She's going back in eight days. And it's Christmas Eve."

            Her mother nodded. "Christmas Eve is a time to be spent with family. Your brother will be home soon!"

            "Hermione is some family to me, Mum!"

            She patted Lennie's hand awkwardly and said, "You can see her tomorrow."

            "No," Lennie said. "I'm going today. You just said yourself, mother, 'Don't put off till tomorrow what you can do today.'"

            Her mother looked slightly taken aback by her retort. She looked at Lennie for a moment, then picked up her trowel and stood back up. She wiped the knees of her pants before she spoke. "Very well, then. Just…be home for dinner, all right?"

            Lennie tried to say something, but her throat was closed. She almost nodded, but she saw an image of Hermione playing a game of chess with Ron, Harry at her side, and she knew that her old friend didn't need her now. All she needed was to figure things out, and nobody except herself could really help her figure out what she needed to do.

            And maybe she shouldn't leave the house today. Maybe something would shift and her mother would want to her about her next football tournament or the boyfriend that had just broke up with her or the poem she had written the other day. Maybe her mother would decide to look in her for once. Maybe she wouldn't have to hide behind a bush and wait for her mother to find her before she noticed her. Maybe sometime in this day she would let Lennie sit in her lap wearing her old gold robe and she would let her tell her all about the magic that she could sense about her, and she wouldn't be skeptical. Maybe she should stay, just in case all of it happened. Even if it didn't, she would know she had been there and hadn't missed it. She'd wait. Someday, her mother would get it right.

            "Mum." Her mother stopped walking away, and turned around.

            "Yes?"

            "I—I think I'll just say Happy Christmas to Hermione tomorrow. I'll stay here and wait for Eric with you." She gave her a small smile, and it didn't feel like a frown she'd turned upside down. It felt like a smile.

            Her mother returned it; not fully (_yet_, Lennie thought), but she returned it nonetheless. She nodded and said, "I'll be inside in a minute."

            Lennie nodded as well and said, "I'll be there." She would. She'd keep some figment of her family with her, and she wouldn't regret it.

            She never did.

            Crookshanks sat at his mistress's closed window, purring softly. His mistress had been lying in her bed, staring at the ceiling, ever since she'd closed the window after seeing the redheaded boy. Crookshanks swished his tail back and forth. The redheaded boy had already gone back inside the house, but he had not come upstairs to make friends again with his mistress. Crookshanks despised when he avoided talking to her. His mistress didn't like it much either.

            The cat turned his ginger head to look at his mistress. Her head was placed on top of her pillow, her hair flying in tangles around her. She was lying sideways but facing up, and her eyes were glazed over from staring at one spot for so long. It would be night soon, and she would have to rise for the family's Christmas dinner. Crookshanks let his tongue hang out; he always got a nice Christmas dinner, even when his mistress stayed at the castle.

            A scuffle near the door made his ears prick up. He jumped down from the window and slinked to the door. There was a person moving outside the door, he could tell. Their shadow was moving back and forth. Crookshanks caught a glimpse of the shoes in the crack between the door and the floor; they were the redheaded boy's trainers. Crookshanks meowed. He knew it would get his mistress's attention.

            Sure enough…"What is it, Crookshanks?" she said, lifting her head slightly off the pillow. Crookshanks meowed once more. Hermione didn't get up, but asked, "Is there someone out there?"  
            Crookshanks sat in front of the door, exasperated with his mistress. He did not understand the purpose of her questions; he would never be able to answer anyway, so she shouldn't waste breath asking in the first place. Nevertheless, he meowed in a last attempt to get her up. She didn't move, just lay her head back down on the pillow. "Let them knock if they want to come in," she muttered.

            Suddenly, a piece of paper—an envelope—shot in through the space under the door. Crookshanks jumped back, startled, and hissed at it. He looked back at the door and saw that the shadow had gone, and only light streamed in. Crookshanks had always thought the redheaded boy had been a bit of a coward.

            Knowing his mistress wouldn't get up off the bed, he grabbed the envelope in his mouth, disgusted with himself for being such a terribly domestic animal. But, hey, it got him food and attention, so it was worth it. He jumped up onto the bed and padded over to his mistress's head. Her eyes followed his trajectory, looking curiously at the envelope in his mouth.

            "What's that, Crookshanks?"

            Again with the questions!

            He dropped the envelope on the bed and attempted to rid his mouth of the taste of paper. In the meantime, his mistress had picked up the envelope, carefully avoiding the damp spot where Crookshanks had held it. The cat licked his paws as she turned it over and saw whose writing was on the envelope. Crookshanks wasn't too interested, but he knew his mistress would be.

            She sighed. "Honestly, Ron…"

            Now she talks to herself…Crookshanks finished licking his paws and made his way back to the window. It was no surprise the letter was from the redheaded boy; Crookshanks had seen his untidy writing addressing the envelope to Hermione.

            At the window, Crookshanks sat and watched a bird flitting around the bare branches of his mistress's tree. A nice, fat sparrow. He took a look at his mistress. Soon enough she'd get out of bed to go find the redheaded boy, and he could go find the fat sparrow.

            It all worked out.

A/n: There it is, guys, a little faster than the previous one. I hope you liked it and I can't wait to write the next chapter; I _know_ you'll all like that one…review please! 8)


	10. Everything

A/n: It's here, guys. Oh, man, I've been waiting for this chapter since chapter 1 of Summer of the War. It's quite hard to get everything right and in place, but I hope I've done a good job and you all will like it. Thanks for being so loyal to my fics all this time, even when it takes me forever to update (like this time). I'll always tell you guys that it means the world. =D

This chapter is dedicated to you.

Disclaimer: No. It's not mine. If Ron Weasley were my property, every living thing on this Earth would know. However, these lovely scenes are all mine. Puaha.

NSH 

**Chapter 10: Everything**

I'm breathing in your skin tonight 

_Quiet is my loudest cry_

_Wouldn't wanna wake the eyes that make me melt inside_

_And if it's healthier to leave you be_

_May a sickness come and set me free_

_Kill me while I still believe that you were meant for me_

_--Yellowcard, "Rough Draft"_

There it was, her name in that silly boy's handwriting. Untidy, too, like the note wasn't very important and could be rushed. Just like him to do the sloppiest work possible.

But still, she opened the envelope, and still she braced herself for what it might say. And still she wished that she was downstairs playing a game of chess with him rather than sitting locked in her room pretending, even to herself, that she was angry with him.

How stupid was it, really? To be alone with her cat, miserable, on Christmas Eve. It wasn't right. She glanced out the window and saw tips of orange and pink filtering through the off-white gray of the sky. Dinnertime would be soon; she'd have to go downstairs anyway. She sighed, watched Crookshanks for a moment, and then sat up to read the letter.

The envelope was actually heavier than she expected it to be, considering there was just a bit of paper in it. She shrugged and opened the envelope. When she reached inside, her hand grazed a cold chain, but she did not bring it out; instead, she took the folded piece of paper out and left the chain inside.

She saw that the note consisted of a short paragraph. There was no doubt it was from Ron.

_Hermione,_

_Damn it. I really don't know what the hell is wrong with you. Okay. First of all...you're a bloody genius, all right? And, being one, you should know things. You do know things, but I guess there's stuff you don't know. Like how you're a lousy liar. Really lousy. You should know that you can't just lie to people like me and Harry. We can tell when you're lying. So, word of advice, don't try it again. Since you decided to lie to me out there yesterday, I was going to keep your Christmas present and not give it to you till you admitted to making that little mistake. But I'm being your friend here. I picked this out a little while ago 'cause it reminded me of first year. You'll see. I've got one like it, too. Hopefully you'll like it more than you seemed to like that stupid perfume. _

_I know you didn't mean what you said out there. I'll prove it._

_Happy Christmas..._

_--Ron_

She sat still, holding the letter in her hand for a while after she'd read it. The words were swimming in her head. She was trying to figure out what lie he'd thought she'd told. He probably thought that the thing about Lennie was a lie.

_He's not stupid, you know._

"I liked that perfume," she said out loud. Crookshanks craned his head around, tearing his gaze from the sparrow outside the window, to look at her. She gave her cat a small smile and said, "He thinks I didn't like it." Then she remembered there was something else in the envelope. Her present! She bit her lip and reached into the envelope. The bed shook lightly as Crookshanks jumped onto it and hurried over to see what it was that she was so interested in. Her fingers closed around the chain and she pulled it out, gasping when she saw it.

Dangling from her fingers was a delicate silver necklace. It had only one charm on it, beautiful and small—a feather, lined in silver that matched the chain. It was a simple gift, but it made her smile. She placed the necklace in the palm of her left and touched the feather lightly with her right index finger. It was soft, like a real feather. She looked at the small feather and couldn't help but laugh, still hearing their voices that one day in first year, when their arguments were just learning to blossom.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" _Ron was shouting, waving his arms in front of the feather like mad._

"_You're saying it wrong," she'd said at him in exasperation. "It's Wing-_gar_-dium Levi-_o_-sa, make the 'gar' nice and long." She'd only been trying to help, even though he exasperated her to no end._

"_You do it then, if you're so clever," he'd snapped back, scowling at her._

_She'd then rolled up her sleeves, pointed her wand at the feather, and said, "_Wingardium Leviosa!_," making the feather levitate with no trouble. _

_He'd been terribly angry with her..._

"And then the git went and insulted me," she said, still smiling, the necklace still in her hand. Crookshanks purred and patted her hand with his paw, trying to see the necklace. She held it out to him and he sniffed it before looking up at her, declaring "Meow," and bounding off the table back to his seat by the window, obviously much more interested in the sparrow.

She quickly put the necklace on, carefully making sure the feather was right side up on the front. Then she said, "Well, I suppose this is your way of saving me from a troll this time, Ron Weasley." That said, she got out of bed and made her way to her closet, deciding to get ready for dinner.

END POV 

Indeed, there was no doubt that his mistress was quite the raving lunatic. All she'd done since she'd opened the redheaded boy's letter was talk to him and talk to herself. Crookshanks flicked his tail sideways and ignored her rantings about the boy having saved her from some troll. A complete nutcase, that.

And honestly. Was he the only one who could tell that this boy, Ron, was going to give her more than that necklace for Christmas? He glanced over at her, head tilted sideways as she surveyed the dresses in her closet.

Yes, apparently so. She had no idea.

END POV 

Hermione watched her reflection in her handheld mirror with mounting anticipation. Her hair, after a small war involving three hairbrushes (one survived) and two bottles of Sleekeasy's Hair Potion, was a marvel of straight locks, with a slight shimmer (a bonus feature of the new and improved Sleekeasy's). She'd put on a red velvet dress that reached just past her knees; she knew her mother was quite partial to the dress and wanted her daughter to wear something on the formal side for that night.

Not that she knew why she herself was making such a big deal out of the night.

"Now, for the final touches," she said softly, putting the mirror down and reaching for the bottle of the perfume Ron had given her. It really was an unusual perfume, with a marvelous smell that wasn't too impressive at first but on second thought left a nice scent behind. She released a few drops of the faerie tears onto her hand and applied them to her neck and a bit on her arms. Then she put the perfume down, picked the mirror back up, and adjusted the feather necklace so that it stood out against her skin, glimmering.

She smiled at her own reflection. Hopefully, Ron would not be angry with her for ignoring him all day, even after the note. She could never tell, with a temper like his, but she could always hope.

A glance at the mahogany clock above her door told her it was time for her to go downstairs for dinner. Her parents always liked formality during their Christmas dinners; she wasn't quite sure why, but she knew this time it was intensified due to the presence of their guests. She chuckled at how much her mother liked Ron. She positively swooned whenever she was around him. Hermione guessed it had to be in her blood, to have a weakness for the freckles and the lopsided smile. Her mother certainly did. As for her father...well, he spoke very rarely with the boys, but she knew that he liked Harry and thought Ron was a "smashing chess player, really."

Crookshanks slinked around her legs, purring softly. She laughed and said, "I suppose you want to tell me what _you _think of him, do you?" Crookshanks stopped moving and turned his squashed face upward to look at her. She bent down and scratched a spot behind his ears, then said, "Don't worry. I know you like him as much as you like Pigwidgeon. Which is quite a lot, isn't it?"

Clock's ticking, Hermione... 

It was true; she didn't want to keep her parents waiting for dinner. So she gave Crookshanks a pat on the head, had another quick check on her small mirror, and then left the room, her heart threatening to burst out of her chest.

Her trip down the stairs seemed to take a lifetime. Small bursts of memories kept going through her head; little snippets of arguments she and Ron had had, lying under the stars at the Burrow, and for some odd reason, the memory of Moaning Myrtle making fun of her tail in second year. But it all vanished when her living room came into view and she saw Harry and Ron standing together, holding two glasses of apple cider and laughing heartily.

She noticed Harry was a little pale, and it was all too obvious that he hadn't even glanced at his hair all day, but he looked fine nevertheless. Ron looked pinker than usual, and Hermione couldn't help but smile when she saw that he was wearing his Gryffindor tie. Harry had probably had the sense to ask her father to borrow a tie. But they both looked quite handsome, and so she decided not to tease Ron about it.

"Hermione!"

Harry noticed she had joined them first, and he smiled; she could tell he was relieved that she'd finally come out, and he seemed even more relieved when she exchanged smiles with both him and Ron.

"What made you decide to come out of your room?" Harry said, with a bit of an accusatory tone in his voice.

Hermione took a deep breath and said, "Well...a couple of things."

Ron locked eyes with her for a moment; she saw his gaze flicker to the necklace, and then he smiled. "Yeah, your mum's cooking smells as good as the house elves'."

"Yes, but she doesn't do it out of slave labor," Hermione replied somewhat coolly.

Harry glanced between them nervously and then grinned. "Hey! Well...er..." He faltered, the grin slipping off his face. Hermione couldn't help but laugh at his attempts to prevent another argument between his two friends.

"It's all right, Harry, really. Did mum say when we're eating?"

Harry took a sip of his apple cider and then held it out to her. "She just shooed us out of the kitchen and said this could serve us just fine for an hour."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "An hour?"

Ron nodded. "That's what I said. Outrageous, isn't it?"  
Harry shrugged. "Well, the point is, we get fed, right?" He looked at Hermione expectantly.

She laughed. "Of course, stupid, it's Christmas Eve."

"That's a relief...new necklace?" He seemed vaguely interested, but it still felt like he was trying to keep the animosity between her and Ron at a Very Low.

"Yes. Actually..." She glanced at Ron and smiled. "It's Ron's Christmas present for me."

Harry raised his eyebrows at Ron. His ears began to turn red, and Hermione's stomach did the churn she was so accustomed to. Ron cleared his throat and said, "Yeah, because of first year and levitation and the feather and all."

"Yeah, I figured that myself, Ron," Harry said, amused. "It's—"

But he stopped speaking when a flash of flame erupted in front of him. A second later, a single red-and-gold feather was floating down softly, a note attached to the stem, with no trace of the flames left. The three stared at it for a few seconds, and then Harry said what was on all their minds.

"It's the Order."

He put his glass of apple cider on the table by stairs and then bent down to pick up the feather; Hermione noticed his hands were trembling slightly. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ron put his apple cider down as well and then place a hand in his pocket, and she guessed he must have his wand stored in there. She turned her attention back to Harry, who was now reading the note. His eyebrows were furrowed, but he didn't look tense, so she relaxed a bit.

When she saw his eyes stop moving across the paper, she said, "What—what is it?"

Harry looked up and she saw that he looked confused. "It says that they're coming."

"Here?" said Ron incredously. Harry nodded and looked back down at the note.

"I dunno why, though."

"You don't think—there's no way Dumbledore could know that you saw something, is there?" Ron said, referring to Harry's vision of the Death Eaters planning an attack.

Harry's eyes narrowed slightly. "No," he said resolutely. "It can't be that."

At that same moment, they heard a scuffle at the door. There was a sound that sounded like a hand slapping something, and then a muffled, "Ow!"

"Oh, I bet that's them," said Hermione, wringing her hands together. "I better tell my parents before they—"

The door to Hermione's house burst open and in toppled Fred, George, and Tonks. They laughed as they stayed on the floor while Mad-Eye Moody, Remus Lupin, Arabella Figg, Mundungus Fletcher, and Arthur Weasley stepped through the door.

At once, Harry's eyes lit up. He hurried over to Lupin and shook his hand firmly; the older man seemed very pleased to see him. Ron was greeting his father, obviously surprised that he was there. Hermione used this time to watch Fred, George, and Tonks untangle themselves from each other and get up off the floor.

"Settle down, settle down," Moody growled, waving a gnarled hand around. "You'll attract attention."

"Oh, _we _will, won't we, Mad-Eye?" George said, putting an arm across Moody's shoulder. "I'm sure Hermione's parents will find _us_ absolutely terrifying."

"Sod off, you," Moody said, shrugging George's arm off. Still, Hermione thought the old Auror looked almost gleeful, like this was some sort of exciting expedition.

Fred, with a similar aura, was waltzing over to Ron and Hermione, an eyebrow raised. "So..." he said, in a would-be casual tone. "How's the betrothed?" He looked at Hermione and sniggered.

"Betrothed?" she said, raising her eyebrows. "What's that supposed to me—"

"Hermione, is everything all right in there?" her mother interrupted, calling from the kitchen.

Glancing at the wizards, Hermione laughed weakly. "Um, just peachy, Mum, it's some friends of ours."

"Wrong thing to say, she's gonna come out here," Ron hissed.

Sure enough, Mrs. Granger poked her head into the living room, and it was all too obvious that she was trying very hard not to faint when she saw the congregation. Before she could, Mr. Weasley made his way forward and said, "Good evening, Mrs. Granger, happy Christmas! We, er, we're here to give Harry his present." He beamed at the Muggle woman, who was still glancing apprehensively at Moody and Mundungus (who seemed to reek more than he usually did).

"It's all right, Mum, really. We know them all quite well," Hermione said, hoping her mother would accept that and be done with it.

Mrs. Granger nodded weakly and said, "Yes, yes, all right dear...just know we can't have anyone else over for dinner..."

"Ooh, you're cooking? Perhaps using eckeltricity? Wouldn't mind if I took a peek would you?" Mr. Weasley said eagerly, stepping forward a bit more. Mrs. Granger seemed at a loss for words.

"Dad," Ron said, tugging at his sleeve.

"What, what is it, Ron? Oh—oh, yes, of course." Mr. Weasley turned back to Mrs. Granger and said, "I beg your pardon, dear woman, do carry on." Hermione nodded rapidly at her mother, who finally decided to retreat back to the safety of her kitchen.

"What are you all really doing here?" Harry said, looking around at the odd group.

"Just what Arthur said, boy, we're bringing you a present," Moody said.

"Courtesy of everyone in the Order," Tonks added, winking at him.

"We _would _have been here sooner," Mrs. Figg proclaimed, "But this _dolt _here"—she hit Mundungus on the back of the head—"got carried away chatting with a little friend of his." She glared at him menacingly, and Mundungus flinched slightly.

"Can't say it was m'fault, Figgy, I—"

"_Don't call me that!_"

Moody rolled both eyes and stepped between the two. "All right, break it up, break it up, we should do this nice and quick."

"Yeah, we don't wanna let Mum's cooking get cold," Fred added, clapping Mundungus on the back. Mrs. Figg scowled at them both.

"Well, Harry," Lupin said, giving Harry a small smile. "We thought it would be nice to give you a gift, and this one seemed to be the perfect one."

"Couldn't have done it without Dung, really," Mr. Weasley said, glancing at Mundungus gratefully.

"Ah, it was nothing,' Arthur, it's for 'Arry's sake," Mundungus said. He gave Harry a wobbly bow and motioned for Lupin to continue.

"I suppose we can get on with it..." Lupin put a hand inside his pocket and retrieved a small, dark blue box made of velvet. He looked at it somewhat sadly, Hermione thought, before holding it out to Harry and saying, "Look inside."

Harry took the box from him and opened it. Sitting neatly in the middle of the soft navy cloth was what looked like a toy motorbike. He cautiously took it out with two fingers and then said, "Er...it's...nice."

The members of the Order laughed lightly. "There's more, Harry," Lupin said. Harry took this as a sign that he should look inside the box more closely, but Lupin chuckled and shook his head. "Hand it over to me for a moment, the motorbike." Harry did as he was told. Lupin took out his wand and set the minute motorbike on the floor. "Everyone stand back, please." They all formed a circle around the tiny object; Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at it curiously with bated breath.

Lupin pointed his wand at the motorbike and said, "_Usus Engorgio!_" Light shot out of the end of his wand, and when it hit the motorbike, it became bright, white light that made them all throw up their arms to shield their eyes. Hermione felt wind in her hair and heard some indistinct whistle noises coming from the motorbike. When the light faded, they all put their arms down and gasped at what they saw.

What had been a tiny motorbike was now a tremendous, life size bike, glittering before them. Hermione looked at Harry; his eyes were wide as dinner plates, and she thought she saw them water. When he looked up at Lupin, she found out why.

In a shaky voice, Lupin said, "Sirius's motorbike."

Harry held his hand out and his fingers grazed one of the handlebars. He bit his lip and then looked back at Lupin, who made his way around the bike to give Harry a hug. Both held the embrace for a minute, and it seemed to Hermione that if either let go too soon, they'd both break down. But when Harry finally released Lupin, he was smiling, and so was their former Professor.

"But—how?" Harry asked, still looking at the bike with incredulity.

Lupin looked at Mundungus and grinned. "Tell him, Dung."

Mundungus took a look at Mrs. Figg, who was tapping her fluffy-slippered foot, but smiling at Harry. Then he said, "Well...I had Kingsley's help too, and all, and we smuggled it out of the Ministry right under ol' Fudge's nose. But that son of a bludger wouldn't notice anythin' was missing even if the crooks told him themselves. Not that we did, mind you." He smiled at Harry and clapped a hand on Mr. Weasley's shoulder. "It was all Arthur's and Remus's idea."

Harry laughed and said, "I dunno what to say. Thanks...all of you."

The Order beamed. Fred and George hugged each other, and Fred said, "Can you feel the love, George? Can you feel it?"

"Oh," said George. "I feel it."

Lupin smiled at the twins and then turned back to Harry. "There are a few things you should know about it." He pointed to a gold button on the dashboard and said, "This is the invisibility booster. You can make it invisible whenever you want, and it's in perfect working order. So you won't have to try to put your Invisibility Cloak over it to leave it unseen." Harry grinned and nodded. Then Lupin said, "The charm I used to get it to this, its regular size, is '_Usus Engorgio!_' To get it back to its small size, you must say, '_Diminuto!_' This way, you can keep it in the little box whenever you're not using it, and no one's the wiser."

"_Wicked_," said Ron, looking at the motorbike in awe. "Harry, will I have a go on it?"

"Hey, Harry, you should bring it over tomorrow! Then we can _all _have a go on it!" George exclaimed and everyone laughed. Harry nodded and said, "Sure, no problem."

"Well then," said Mr. Weasley, beaming once more. "I suppose we will see you three tomorrow."

Everyone went around, saying their good-byes. Ron was particularly giggly after saying farewell to Dung, having obviously heard one of his famous stories. Harry and Lupin talked quietly for a moment before Moody ushered all the Order members together.

"We're Disapparating, see?" he said, his magical eye rolling back to make sure the twins weren't being too overeager.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione nodded and waved to everyone. "Wotcher, kiddos!" Tonks said, waving back. And then, with one loud pop!, they were all gone. The trio grinned at each other and then looked at the magnificent motorbike.

"Go on then, Harry, try the charm," Ron said. Hermione nodded, eager to see that this extraordinary magical object really was the tiny bike they'd seen before. Harry, grinning, took his wand from his pocket, pointed it at the bike, and said, "_Diminuto!_" This time, light shot out from the bike to Harry's wand, and then turned into brilliant white light. They shielded their eyes for a few moments, and when they looked back, they saw that the bike was once again, seemingly, a toy motorbike.

Harry bent down to pick it up and then held it in his hand.

"That's got to be one of the best Christmas presents anyone can get!" said Ron.

Hermione put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "It's wonderful, Harry."

He nodded, still looking at the motorbike. "Yes...it is."

END POV 

The night was so still Ron could feel the silence pulsating against his skin. Or maybe it was the magnified sound of his heartbeat. He was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling like he'd done on so many nights, except this night, he knew that he would, at one point or another, get up and get it over with. There was no doubt in his mind that he would do it.

_This is it._

It truly was "it," although he wasn't entirely sure what "it" meant. He thought it might refer to him telling Hermione, but he had a vague feeling that it also had to do with how he could finally prove to himself that he was brave. Or that this was a really big step up from being friends with Hermione. "It" could change everything as he knew it.

He grabbed the feather on his necklace, one identical to the one he'd given Hermione. He could do this. It was important, and she meant the world to him, didn't he?

And come on, Weasley...it's easier confronting her than telling Harry! 

His stomach lurched. Supposing something _did _happen...how would they tell Harry? He shook his head to clear his mind and sat up. Better sooner than later. Or was the term "better late than never"? He never was much good at remembering his dad's Muggle sayings...

Weasley!! 

All right, he was going. Yes. His feet touched the cold marble floor and he flinched slightly. It was still a bit incredible that he was about to do it, but he was determined to do it, and this was not the time to back down. He stood up, put on his bathrobe, and, with a quick glance at a soundly sleeping Harry, he left his room and headed for Hermione's.

What time was it, anyway? He checked a small clock sitting atop the hallway table and was startled to see it was 1:30 in the morning. He took a deep breath and forced himself to keep walking. His hand was still closed tightly around the feather.

And then, all of a sudden, there was the door to her room, closed, shut. He could hear his breathing, a deafening noise; when had it become quite so loud?! He stood in front of the door for a few minutes, debating on how to wake her. He could knock, or he could shake her awake. A smile tugged at his lips; he wanted to surprise her, so he opted for the latter. His hand touched the doorknob and he felt his heart beat even faster. And before he even knew what he was doing, his hand had turned the doorknob and the door was open.

There was a small sliver of moonlight coming in through the window. It left a line of light on the floor. Halfway along that line, Ron spotted a paper envelope that said, "Hermione." He couldn't help but smile. That little note had been the very first step in all of this. _And if you don't go through with this, it will have been a waste of time. _That was true. Ron let out a slow breath and then looked at the sleeping figure on the bed. He shouldn't waste any more time or it would be dawn before he told her.

He made his way over to the bed. Aware that the palms of his hands were quite sweaty, he raised one and laid it on her shoulder. Then he shook her gently and said, very softly, "Hermione."

Her eyes opened sooner than he'd expected, and he felt his breath get knocked out. He took his hand off her shoulder and took a deep breath before whispering, "Hi."

"Ron?" she said groggily, sitting up and patting her hair down. It was still straight, but some locks were returning to their usual bushy-curls state.

He gave her a weak smile and he said, "Yeah, hi."

"What time is it?" She rubbed her eyes with the palm of her hands and then looked at him again, as if she was still processing his presence there.

"Uh it's 1...er, 1:30." _No time to waste._ He looked down at his hands and then back up at her, bracing himself. "Hermione, can you come with me?"

She arched an eyebrow. "Come where?"

"Outside." More nervous swallowing, _why _were his palms so wet?

"Outside?" He nodded. "At this hour?" Nod again. She laughed softly and said, "All right, if that's what you want...may I ask why?"

"Er, not yet, I'll tell you but...not yet." He stood up and started walking towards the door, afraid that if he stayed crouched by her too long he'd say things the wrong way. And nothing could go wrong here.

He heard her getting up behind him. Glancing back, he saw that she was wearing the Chudley Cannon pajamas he'd given her for her birthday that September. A grin broke out on his nervous face; he thought she'd hated those pajamas and had thought of them as his "sorry attempt at converting me into a Cannon supporter."

"I see you liked those after all," he said, still grinning.

She rolled her eyes playfully as she pulled on her bathrobe and said, "Don't think too much of it, you. And this better be good..."

The grin slowly left his face. "Yes, let's hope so."

"Come again?"

"Nothing. Come on." With a last glance at her, he led her out of the room.

They were silent for a few seconds. Then she said, "Aren't we going outside?"  
"Yeah. That's where I'm heading, isn't it?"  
"Yes, but...you're not wearing any shoes, Ron."

He stopped and looked down at his feet. They were bare. "Dammit," he muttered. This was certainly not the right time to be barefoot. "Er..."

"Look, Dad always leaves a pair of shoes by the door. Just wear those if it's too much trouble to go back to your room and get your own," she said, trying to read the expression on his face.

He swallowed a lump that had formed in his throat and nodded. Then he kept walking, hoping that she was in a good mood.

Sooner than he thought, they were at the front door. Without speaking to her, he put on her father's shoes and then opened the door. She stepped out first, shivering slightly as the cold air hit her face. He followed, seeing his breath turn into vapor before his eyes. Hermione turned to look at him expectantly.

"Er..." Unfortunately, his brain and mouth didn't seem to be working together. He pointed lamely towards the tree and managed to get out a strangled, "Over there."

She raised her eyebrows and said, "Ron, will this take long? Because I don't want to get sick again."

"It'll take longer if we keep talking." Bad tone.

She narrowed her eyes slightly. "Fine." Then she trudged off toward the tree, Ron following and muttering swear words under his breath. When they were standing under the bare branches of the trees, Ron looked around. He'd seen this happening, he knew what he was going to say and everything, but still it looked so strange and unfamiliar, and he felt completely lost.

"Moon's full, isn't it?" he said, not turning around to look at it. Hermione nodded and said nothing else. She had one hand on her waist, the other hanging at her side, and she was watching him, waiting for him to speak.

He took a deep breath and felt his lungs turn to ice and his heart beating like mad. He'd waited so long to do it, but now that he was about to do it, he felt that maybe waiting a little longer wouldn't hurt...

_No. Look at her. No._

She looked cold and she kept shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She could tell he was nervous and he knew it must have been making her nervous too. Her hand left her hip and went to the new necklace she wore, identical to his. The crunch of snow under her feet and the sound of his heart and the thoughts in his mind deafened him, but when he saw her holding the feather, he let it all go and said, "I—I'm not sure why I decided to do this now, but, um, it just...instinct, you know?"

Hermione was starting to look worried. She nodded, and said, "Is something wrong?"

He shook his head. "No, not really. Well. Yes. I mean...you know, I told you that you should know stuff, 'cause you're so smart. And I said there's stuff that you don't know. Yeah, well, it's kind of my fault that you don't know some of that stuff."

She laughed feebly. "Ron, what are you trying to say?"

He felt his eyes widen. He ran a hand through his hair and readied himself. "It's just that...you, you've taught me so much, and I know things because you made sure to teach them to me. I'm not sure what kind of person I'd be without you around but, er, you kind of show me things that I would never see on my own. Don't you see?" He took another shaky breath. "You're...the person who tells me I have dirt on my nose, or when I need to do what's right, or when I need to accept things. And you're just this amazing person that I try so hard to understand and I still can't but I want to, I really do, 'cause I would do anything to learn everything about you and know what makes you happy and know when I shouldn't push your buttons and know when I'm making you sad and all of that. But even if I never get to learn all that stuff about you, I'm just happy knowing you, because you're"—oh, checkmate, already?—"...you're the...the only person I've ever liked this much and you're just...everything! See?"

And he was done talking and there was the silence, exploding all over the place...what if she was saying something and he'd never hear it because of this awful silence? But no, she wasn't...she was just standing there, one hand on the necklace and the other at her side, and she was just gazing at him. It seemed like she might have stopped breathing. Or maybe he was the one who had stopped. He couldn't feel anything except the numbing, somewhat comforting, beat of his heart. Somehow, he was still looking at her in the eyes, even after that mouthful, and neither of them had looked away.

The first thing she did was stop holding the necklace. He was about to start berating himself about what a bad omen that must be when she took one step towards him. No, his imagination must be running wild.

It did that a lot...like when he thought of the Yule Ball, and instead of remembering what had really happened, he would see himself dancing with her and they were smiling and—

—and now she was opening her mouth to say something! His brain froze, his heart practically stop, his breath caught in his frozen lungs as he focused on what she was saying.

There was a small smile on her face. "I see," she said.

And then his breath was free in his no-longer frozen lungs, and his blood was coursing through his body, and he let his imagination run wild, because Hermione had just put her hands on his shoulders and then pressed her lips against his. He was sure that this time it wasn't a dream, or a memory from the scars, or any work of imagination. It was really real, she was actually pressing her mouth against his, and he was just holding her lightly.

They were at the Yule Ball. There were couples dancing all around them, lights bouncing off the lights, fairies playing in people's hair. But they were standing together, kissing—bloody hell, he was_ kissing _Hermione! She had her hands on his shoulders, gripping them tight, like if she let go she would fall. He would certainly fall if she let go of him, but he wasn't worried, because this moment would last as long as it needed to, and then...what then?

He didn't realize his eyes had been closed until they opened, when his lips were no longer on hers. She still had her hands on his shoulders and she was looking up at him, an expression of disbelief on her face. He was sure he'd stopped breathing now, but a moment later it didn't matter, because she'd grinned and put her arms around him, hugging him close to her. He hugged her back, chuckling in her ear and holding her tighter than he'd ever held her.

He could never remember what went through his mind at that moment; the only thing he _could _remember was that it kicked ass and, just standing there with her in his arms, he knew he'd never regret telling her.

Hmm...he'd have to thank that sparrow.

After what felt like a century, she released him and looked at him again, smiling. He gave her a lopsided grin, feeling his ears reddening, and saw that her cheeks were pink too. He really doubted it was from the cold.

"Let's go back inside," he said, and took her hand in his. They walked back to the front door, and before going inside the house, they turned to look at the moon.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Hermione said, and when he turned to look at her, he saw her eyes were sparkling.

He nodded. "Yeah. I've never seen it so bright."

Once inside (after making sure Mr. Granger's shoes were right where he'd left them), he walked with her back to her room. All too soon, he thought, though for a different reason this time, he saw her bedroom door before him. She opened it slightly and was about to go in but then she turned and smiled at him.

He returned the grin and hugged her once more. It felt so good to just hug her and know he didn't have to worry about how long he held her, about giving anything away, because, Merlin's beard, she knew! She laid her head against his chest and he knew he must be blowing her eardrums out with his crazy heartbeat but at the same time he knew she didn't mind.

When she pulled away, she looked up at him and said, "Just so you know...I like you very much too, Ron."

He laughed. "I was hoping that was the case."

"Yes, well..." she said softly, still smiling. "Good night."

He nodded. "Good night." Then he bent down and kissed her again, short and soft. Then she went into her room, smiled at him one last time, and closed the door.

At that moment, Ron forgot that it had been such a long way to get to where he was, standing in front of her door after having shared his first kiss with her. It really had been a hell of a journey, one that had pissed him off on countless occasions. But even though he'd gotten discouraged, he'd made it, hadn't he?

_Right you are, Weasley._

He smiled to himself. "Checkmate," he murmured, and then went off to return to his own bedroom.

A/n: Alas...review!


	11. Christmas

A/n: I dunno what to say...thanks. I know I've said that a lot but, hey, I mean it. I'm wondering if people have given up on this fic...? Well, whatever, as long as _someone _is still reading, I'll keep writing. I think after this there will only be two more chapters, but I'm not quite sure. Anyway...won't this chapter be fun? )

Disclaimer: Nope, still don't.

NSH 

**Chapter 11: Christmas**

He didn't think he should sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw something, some silhouette, except he couldn't tell who it was. The shadow beckoned, brought him closer so he would see who it was. But he didn't want to see. It might change things.

Blinking took a lot of energy, he was so tired. But he blinked nonetheless and glanced at the nightstand next to his bed. There sat the velvet box, harmless, lit softly by the sliver of moonlight coming in through the shades on the window. Harry felt his lip tremble and looked away.

He understood why they'd given it to him. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate it and like it; of course he did. But the fact that it had belonged to Sirius...that was not something he could put out of his mind. Every single time he ever picked up the motorbike, he would be constantly stabbed by the memory of Sirius and the fact that, even though he didn't want to believe it, he was dead.

It had to be true. If he was alive, why wasn't he coming? Why didn't he just crawl back out from behind the dark veil and let everyone know that, no, Sirius Black could not be beaten, would not be beaten? He had fought too much to find Harry again, to be able to have the company of his best friend Remus again...he wouldn't let it go by just giving up and sitting there behind some archway. If he weren't dead, he would have emerged and laughed about how gullible they were. "You gits, I can't _believe_ you fell for that prank! It's the oldest trick in the book!" And they would all laugh and embrace and conjure up a round of butterbeers. They would forget it had ever happened and just appreciate he was there.

Why wasn't he there?

Harry closed his eyes. The silhouette was gone, no shadow that beckoned. There was just the perpetual darkness of closed lids. Lying there, his eyes shut tight, Harry hoped Sirius had kept his eyes open after he fell. It would be an absolute nightmare to have to be dead, with no control of your eyes, and have to drown in the darkness knowing there could be light out there. If he had his eyes open, at least he would gaze unseeingly upon whatever surrounded him. Even if he couldn't see it, better he be surrounded by light than by darkness.

When Harry opened his eyes, he felt a cold touch on his cheek. He gritted his teeth as he wiped the tear away. He hated crying. It just reminded him how dead Sirius was. Alas, didn't everything plague him that way? Crying just showed him that he could still choose to display his emotions, to release an inner depression before it ate away at all his memories and thoughts. Crying was a human thing; every living human cried. It was life leaking out because it knew there was more life left inside a person. That's why he hated crying.

But he never stopped himself from doing it.

Sleep took him. He preferred to sleep than to keep crying. Perhaps this slumber wouldn't be plagued by any twisted scenes. Perhaps...

_But no._

_He was sitting on the dais on which stood the archway. His legs hung limply over the edge of the dais, his back to the veil. He had the motorbike held tightly in his hand. His head was down. Was he dead?_

_How he wished he was._

_No, he was still outside the veil. Within reach, but outside nonetheless. _

_He stirred. There was no use waiting for life to drain out of him. With an effort that was too terrible to bear, he threw the motorbike as far as it could go. It stayed in his view. His throw was too weak. _

_He turned his head and screamed. He tried to use all the air in his lungs—was he dead yet?—but he kept screaming and he kept living. Behind him stood Voldemort. True, not the subtlest of appearances in his dreams. But he was there, no doubt. And he was making Harry scream. _

_It was Crucio, he knew it, he could feel his bones snapping but staying intact. Voldemort was laughing. Harry was still screaming. Air still flowed in his lungs. _

_He kept screaming._

_And then everything was silent. He didn't feel anything anymore, except a hollow hole inside his whole body. He couldn't see anything either. Oh, but now it was registering. His eyes were closed. He tried to open them but couldn't. When he was about to try to scream again, his eyes opened. The hollow feeling remained. _

_He had no heartbeat._

_Surveying his surroundings, he found a bare room with a high backed chair in the center. He didn't feel unnerved by it. Why should he, he lived here. For the time being. Until he took over Hogwarts._

_His scar was hurting. But it was a distant, dull pain. He couldn't feel it much. So he ignored it and called someone's name, in a high voice, a name he felt an indistinct hate for. "Bella." A hiss, more like, not a voice. _

_A dark figure entered the room. She stepped up to him, keeping her head down as she slowly lowered her hood. She had heavy lidded eyes with dark, ugly bags under them. Her face was pale, like if she'd been indoors or hiding behind a mask for many months. _

_His heart ached at the sight of her. But he still had no heartbeat._

"_Six days, master, that's all we need. Preparations are being completed."_

_He hated her voice, but he was delighted by what she said. He had no will..._

"_Good," he hissed. "Although, it is still not soon enough."_

"_Master," she said, desperation dropping into her voice. "My Lord, we tried, but there are many things to be careful about and--"_

"_Enough. It matters not." More hissing coming from his mouth, a sound strange to his ears but still so very familiar. Where the hell was his heart? "The death of those M--" He stopped speaking. Fear hit him hard, and he realized that he could distinctly feel his heart beating madly again, and he felt his scar start to prickle with the beginnings of searing pain._

_And then he felt himself being released from Voldemort's mind. His head felt like it was being torn open._

His eyes opened wide. Cold sweat was running down the sides of his head. He bit his lip hard so he wouldn't start screaming. It would remind him too much of his dream...

He heard footsteps. Immediately, his hand whipped out and grabbed his wand, which was sitting next to the velvet motorbike box. His sweaty palm gripped the wand handle tightly as he pointed it towards the door, ready for anything. The footsteps approached. Whoever it was would be at the door in a matter of seconds...

It was Ron. Harry let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding, but his arm seemed frozen in the position it was in, extended and holding his wand with all his mind. Ron looked dazed. He didn't seem to register that his best friend was aiming his wand at him. When he finally did come to his senses, though, he gave Harry an odd look.

"Harry, mate...you all right?"

_Lower your arm, it's all right. _He let his arm fall, feeling the muscles loosen painfully. He looked back up at Ron and nodded weakly. "Yeah...yeah." Now he remembered seeing Ron get up out of bed. How long before had that been? He really had no idea. He had been trying to go to sleep, and when he saw Ron get up, he'd thought he was going to the bathroom; he just forgot he'd ever left when he started seeing the silhouette.

"You're sweating," Ron pointed out. His cheeks were flushed, his ears bright red. Harry didn't feel like asking what he had been up to, though. He was tired.

"Er...yeah." Harry wiped some of the sweat off his forehead. "Too many blankets, I reckon."

"Too many blankets." Ron was skeptical. It was pissing him off.

"Yes, Ron." He threw the sheets off his body for emphasis. "They're smothering me."

"I see," Ron replied. He seemed lost in thought—Harry didn't even want to know what about. Without another word, Harry put his wand back on his nightstand and lay back down, turning on his side with his back to Ron.

There was a moment of silence. Then Ron said, "You're sure you're okay?"  
Harry nodded. "Fine," he said. There were tears on his face. His steady heartbeat boomed in his ears. "Fine."

END POV 

Hermione awoke to the heavy scent of cat hair. The weight on her head told her that Crookshanks had climbed precariously onto her head some time the previous night, after she'd come back to bed. His tail was now swishing back and forth, tickling her nose a bit. She gently reached up and pushed him off her head. He gave an indignant purr and then bounced onto the bed, stretching lazily.

So this was the morning after. She'd always hear people use that term when speaking about...

She giggled.

Crookshanks turned his head towards her and hissed lightly. She knew he was associating the sound with Lavender and Parvati, and he'd never had much liking for them. She patted his head and laughed, since it was quite the rarity for her to resemble her House roommates.

Oh, but the occasion certainly called for it.

She suddenly jumped out of bed, startling Crookshanks. Laughing once more, she hurried to pick out nice but not overly elegant clothes for the day, and then made her way to the shower. The morning, despite being cold and cloudy, seemed very enjoyable to her, but she certainly had an inkling as to why that was...

When she was fully dressed (and after several attempts to make her hair behave like—well—hair, only succeeding in achieving a bushy-yet-sleek look that she wasn't very pleased with), she put her wand in her pocket and left her room, with the intention of waking the boys with cheery Christmas wishes.

As she neared their door, she heard Ron talking loudly about what his mum must be cooking up for them at the Burrow, and she blushed. How ludicrous, too, of her to try to tell herself she wasn't blushing. There was no need for that anymore. With that thought, and a smile on her face, she knocked on the door to their bedroom.

"...bet Fred and George have hidden all the Chocolate Frogs from me, those pra—" Ron stopped speaking when he heard the knock.

"Who is it?" came Harry's voice.

Failing to come up with some witty answer (it was much harder than the twins made it look), Hermione said, "It's me."

"Smee?" Ron said, feigning confused.

"No, Hook." Harry laughed at her answer; she knew Ron would be completely lost on the joke. Sure enough...

"What the hell?"

"Just come in, Hermione," Harry instructed. Biting her lip nervously, she opened the door. Ron was sitting on his bed, pulling his trainers on. His hair was terribly disheveled, but, as always, compared to Harry, he looked perfectly groomed. When he looked up at her, his cheeks reddened slightly behind his freckles. Nevertheless, he flashed her a lopsided smile, and she couldn't help returning it.

Remembering that Harry was in the room, she turned to see him leaning against the doorframe with a smirk on his face. She was about to say something concerning the smirk when he said, "What, no 'Happy Christmas'?"

Hermione shook her head, laughing, and said, "Fine, yes...Happy Christmas, Harry."

"Are we exchanging gifts at the Burrow?" Ron asked.

"Er, yeah, I suppose."

"When are we leaving, then?" Harry looked quite eager to leave. He was wearing his usual green Weasley sweater and a small smile, which Hermione knew was due to the fact that he would be able to see Ginny again.

"I dunno."

"Oh, honestly, Ron, you didn't even ask your mum about that?" Hermione asked, turning to him. As soon as she did, though, they both broke into grins without hesitation. She had to turn away so Ron wouldn't forget to answer her question; that would look suspicious.

"Er..." Ron was always so clumsy about putting words together... "Well, she just said 'We'll see you on Christmas morning.'"

"This is Christmas morning," Harry helpfully pointed out.

"That's right," Ron answered.

Harry laughed. "Okay, so I guess we'll be going...?"

"Sure. Except..." Ron wagged a finger. "You have to leave because I have to round up the presents, which include yours."

"What about Hermione?"

She, however, had already anticipated what Ron said. "She has her present already, so she is free to take a peek at the presents for the rest of you." Of course, she also thought he might just want to be alone with her for a second. The idea made her stomach do somersaults.

"All right," Harry said, raising his eyebrows. "I'll just be downstairs by the fireplace...Hermione, you want to stay or wait with me?"

"Stay." She almost hit herself for being so hasty about answering, but she smiled at Harry and said, "We'll only take a second."  
"Right." The edges of Harry's lips were twitching, and Hermione was trying to decide how to tell him off when he exited the room silently. At this, she turned towards Ron. He was rummaging around inside the trunk at the feet of his bed, where all his belongings still were.

"Ron?"

He stopped moving. She saw his ears redden and bit her lip. It would be absolutely awful if something were wrong...

"You think he knows?" Ron asked, turning his head slightly so she had a profile view of him.

Hermione blinked very quickly. "Well...I've always thought he suspected something might...happen." She gave him a small smile, and he turned around to face her.

"I think _everyone _did."

She laughed and, without thinking, took a step forward. "Yes...why do you think that is?"  
"Surely, you jest. You don't think we were always a bit obvious?"  
"Come off it, Ron. I am great at being subtle. You, on the other hand, aren't."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh? So how come they still thought it was a mutual thing?"  
She couldn't find an immediate answer to that that would support the point she was making. But then she decided on a simpler answer. "Because it _is _a mutual thing."

They were both very close now—she wasn't sure how it had happened, but their faces were inches apart. Ron looked quite solemn, except she knew he was as lighthearted as she was when he said, "Thank Merlin" and then kissed her.

It was almost better than it had been the night before, just because it proved that she could kiss him back all she wanted and nobody would do anything about it. And he didn't mind, either! It made her skin prickle. They pulled apart quite quickly, but only because she knew Harry could be around, and walking in on them was not the right way for him to find out.

Ron grinned. She returned it, but took a step back. "How are we going to tell him?"

"I...haven't thought of that yet."

Hermione nodded. "We could..."

"Explain?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"It would be...awkward."

Ron opted for a nod in agreement. "I guess that's true." He was quiet for a moment, and then he said, "Well...I could just...you know...kiss you in front of him." His cheeks tinged.

She shook her head. "No, I think that would terrify him." Ron laughed. "No, I mean it!"

"I know."

"Yes."

He stood watching her for a few seconds and then he reached for her hand. "We'll figure something out, all right?"

She nodded. "Okay."

"For now...our main concern is my mum's Christmas cooking."

As she laughed, Hermione heard footsteps coming from the corridor behind her. Hastily, she dropped Ron's hand and turned to see Harry coming towards the door. She doubted he would have noticed the hand holding at a distance. Shooting Ron a smile, she waited for Harry to reach the room before asking, "What's wrong?"

"I don't mean to whine," he said, "but can we _please _go now?"

END POV 

"They're hiding in there somewhere," Luna Lovegood said, pointing with her wand at the sprig of mistletoe that sat on the coffee table before her. "They're just very eager to find a couple they can settle above. Naturally, I won't let them, because I'd rather study them than see them force some poor people to kiss."

"Fascinating," Ron muttered. He was sitting next to Hermione on the couch across from Luna. His hand was settled next to hers between them, and occasionally he would run his index fingers over her knuckles. Luna hadn't noticed a thing; she was way too enthralled in her attempt to pry the nargles out of the mistletoe. For this, Hermione was thankful, since she quite wanted to enjoy such gestures without half the wizarding world noticing.

"Luna, I'm pretty sure there are no such things as nargles," Hermione said, in a somewhat kind voice, trying to point out the logic to Luna.

"Oh, don't be silly. They _love _mistletoe," Luna replied cheerily, watching the mistletoe expectantly. "I think they're a bit upset that I've taken them down." She glanced at something behind Ron and Hermione. "Of course, some others really don't need mistletoe as encouragement, do they?"

Ron groaned. Hermione knew Luna was referring to Harry and Ginny, who had been sitting together in a corner by the kitchen almost immediately after the trio had arrived. Ron had preferred to avert his eyes from the sight at every moment possible. The twins, on the other hand, found it amusing. Hermione chuckled and took a drink from the glass of water that she was holding in her free hand.

"Although, if you two want, I could let the nargles use the mistletoe magic on you," Luna continued nonchalantly, poking her wand through a couple of leaves in the plant.

Hermione choked on her water. She quickly set the glass down, wiped her mouth, and said, "Come again?"

Luna smiled. A glance at Ron told Hermione that he looked quite petrified of the girl. "You know," Luna said, "most people think that I'm not that observant."

"No, I'd say they understand that pretty damn well," Ron replied feebly.

Pretending not to hear him or choosing to ignore him, Luna said, "Well, I am quite observant, and I think you two would much rather be in a situation like Harry and Ginevra than to sit here, talking to me."

Feeling a bit of pity, Hermione shook her head. "Oh, no, no, Luna, we're having a wonderful time."

Luna smiled serenely. "I always thought you were a nice person. A terrible liar, though. But a nice person." She stood up, taking the mistletoe in her hands. "I must go see if watering this might encourage the nargles to emerge..." And with that, she left Ron and Hermione gaping at her retreating back.

Ron tapped Hermione's hand, and she turned her head to look at him. But before he could say whatever it was he was going to say, there was a loud pop and two people. appeared on either side of the couch. Two identical, redheaded, smirking people.

"Why, hello, ickle Ronniekins," the one with the sweater imprinted with a G said.

"And let's not forget the future Mrs. Ronniekins!" the other said gleefully.

Hermione glanced back and forth between the two, as did Ron. "What do you two want?" he said. Hermione dimly noticed that Ron's finger was still on top of her hand.

"Well..." the twins chorused. Then they both whipped out two ridiculous large trapezoidal pieces of glass with a handle that looked like a nose. Hermione didn't get a chance to consider what they might be—the twins both leaned in, putting the instruments to their eyes with the handle facing down, making it seem like they both had very ugly hooked noses.

"It seems to me..." Fred said.

"That a certain freckled finger..." George added.

"Is atop the hand of a genius, and ergo—"

"The genius doesn't _mind _the freckled finger—"

"Ergo, something lovely this way comes!"

Ron lifted the hand that had been on Hermione's. "Sod off, both of you, before I tell mum that you're terrorizing Hermione."

"A hearty liar," Fred said, nodding.

"But all for the sake of his bonnie lass," George supplied, placing a hand over his heart.

"We'll be around!" they both said, and then Disapparated with a tremendous pop.

Ron and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. The twins could have been more scandalous than that. Still...

"That was close," Ron muttered.

Hermione felt a slight pang at how concerned he was with keeping the matter at hand a secret. "Yes, how lucky of us," she replied, a little more bitterly than she had intended.

Ron arched an eyebrow. "You okay?"

She let herself be entranced by her hands in her lap. "Fine." There was a very pregnant pause before she said, "Er, I need to...use the bathroom. I'll be right back." She quickly stood up and started to walk away, but managed to hear Ron said, "All right" faintly.

Crossing her hands over her chest, she walked past Harry and Ginny without a glance and didn't even acknowledge Mrs. Weasley and Luna in the kitchen. She was very happy—absolutely ecstatic, really—about the events that had taken place in the course of 24 hours. She had made up with Ron, he had confessed how he fancied her, and they had already kissed a total of three times. It was more than she could ever have hoped for, as much as she hated the term. But she was sorely uncomfortable with the way Ron was acting about making their—relationship—more open.

When she got to the bathroom, she let herself in and then locked the door behind her. Then she put the lid of the toilet down and sat on it, trying to think. She knew Ron wasn't embarrassed about liking her; he had made that all too clear. He was, as far as she could tell, as overjoyed as she was. But he seemed to be holding back when it came to telling everyone else about how they had...progressed. And, to make matters worse, they all seemed perfectly ready for such news, but he still was very much against coming out with it.

"What am I supposed to do?" she muttered to herself, digging her shoes into the rug.

Still, she couldn't help thinking that she shouldn't care. The main point was, she and Ron were finally together, after the long wait, after the anticipation of what might be there, after the many horrifying thoughts of possible death awaiting. That was what mattered, wasn't it? That they had managed to tell each other everything, after so long?

It shouldn't matter if Ron was a little sheepish about admitting it to his family and best friend. It _didn't _matter. The important thing was that Ron really wanted to be with her. It was what she should keep in mind.

Hermione smiled, remembering the details of the previous night. She had been absolutely dumbstruck, to find Ron's lips against hers and knowing that it was not her overly wild imagination. She had the feeling that his lips tasted of Sugar Quills, but maybe it was just her memory of one night in the summer, at the Burrow, under the stars...

A knock at the bathroom door interrupted her thoughts. Mrs. Weasley's voice said, "Hermione, dear? Are you all right? You've been in there for a while now..."

She smiled, in spite of the rather stupid situation, and replied, "Yes, I'm fine, Mrs. Weasley, thank you. I'll be out in just a second." She stood up and stepped in front of the mirror, to check up on how tame her hair was being. One glance told her that it was almost back to normal, except for some strands near the front. Sighing, she tried to pat it down so it wouldn't get in the way.

"I hate my hair," she said out loud. "Honestly, if only my grandmother had had _normal _hair..."

"Oh, don't think too much of it, honey," a voice said, startling her so much that she jumped back a few feet. With widened eyes, she looked around, trying to figure out who had spoken.

"Over here," the voice said again, coming directly from in front of her. Suddenly relieved, she smiled and said, "Oh. You."

After spending the past week at her house, she had almost completely forgotten that mirrors in the magical world spoke. The ones at the Leaky Cauldron were particularly talkative. But she hadn't ever heard this one speak...

"Yes, me," the mirror said, sounding amused.

"I don't think much about my hair," Hermione said, going back to the mirror's first comment. "It's just..." Immediately, her thoughts went to Ron, and how she suddenly really wanted to look her best around him...after all, it was always very difficult to forget fourth year and the Yule Ball.

"Oh, I know. But, really, dear, he fell for you just the way you are, now didn't he?"

Hermione had to laugh. "You're a clever mirror, aren't you?"

"That's what the twins tell me."

Smiling, Hermione nodded. "I suppose you're right."

"Of course I am. That boy has messed with his hair and picked at his freckles every time he's in here when you're around. I notice these things."

"Ron's self conscious about how he looks?" This surprised her; after all, she certainly didn't see anything wrong with him at _all_. (A/n: Yes, I know, I'm completely and utterly biased).

"No, none of that," the mirror replied. "But, for you, he always tries his best."

Hermione felt her hand prickle, as if the skin on there was remembering how nice it felt to have Ron's hand over hers. She bit her lip, almost tasting Sugar Quills...and she smiled at the mirror, feeling very fortunate to be part of the wizarding world. "Thanks."

"No problem."

Before she left the bathroom, Hermione couldn't help but take one last look at another feature—or lack thereof would be the more appropriate term, in her opinion—of hers that she was particularly picky about. She had never quite filled out in the chest area like all the other girls around her had; again, she had family genes to blame.

The mirror apparently noticed this, because it said, "Yes, well, that _is _unfortunate, isn't? Why, just look at Ginny, and she's a year _younger _than you!"

Feeling her cheeks burning, Hermione cleared her throat and said, "All right, I think I've talked to you enough for one day."

"Oh, don't be insulted, love. What you dislike about yourself might just be the reason someone else loves you. I'm getting old, anyway. My vision tends to get a little blurry. Sad, isn't it?"

Hermione kind of felt like she wanted to give the mirror a comforting hug; of course, it was a pretty ridiculous feeling (this from the girl asks her cat questions), but it was there nonetheless. "No," she said. "I think your vision is absolutely wonderful."Two spots of condensation appeared on the mirror. "Thank you."

Smiling, Hermione stepped out of the bathroom.

END POV 

Luna was shooting small balls of golden light at the mistletoe, making them fly around the leaves. Ron thought he saw some faint rustling in the leaves, but he didn't tell her this.

Hermione had returned to her seat next to him, and she seemed to have recovered from whatever had been bothering her. Ron had a slight guess as to what that had been; she was probably disappointed that he was too much of a coward to admit to anyone that they had "gotten together." He didn't let himself feel guilty over it, though; he knew he would make it up to her very, very soon.

"Oh, I think they finally want to come out!" Luna said, adding green light balls to the congregation of gold ones.

Choosing to ignore this, Ron turned to look at what Fred and George were up to. They had managed to sneak off to the shed and bring out a Muggle record player, and now they were charming a record to play a couple of Weird Sisters songs. A second later, Ron found out their mischief had been successful, as the amplifier let out a burst of noise—the most popular Weird Sisters song.

Fred and George high-fived each other and then shot a series of fireworks out of the ends of their wands. Immediately, Mrs. Weasley came bursting in from the kitchen, her hand on her hips, a scowl hitched on her face. Ron had no idea what she was shouting to them because the sound coming from the record player was so deafening, but he laughed when his mother smacked both of his brothers upside the head. Hermione and Luna both sniggered along with him. Harry and Ginny seemed too...preoccupied...to care.

Hermione pointed her wand at the record player and said, "_Quietus!_" The music volume lowered drastically, to the gratitude of everyone's eardrums. Ron let his hand graze Hermione's shoulder and when she turned to look at him, he grinned. Then he leaned close to her and whispered, "You're brilliant" in her ears.

Luna cleared her throat. "Do you two want to see the nargles or not? I'm positive they'll come out in a minute or so."

Ron smiled and shook his head. "No...I think I want to dance."

"What?" Hermione said, obviously taken by surprise. He nodded and said, "What do you say? Are you up for a dance?"

She blinked constantly for a few moments, and then smiled. "All right," she answered softly, nodding. Ron glanced at Luna out of the corner of his eye and saw that, while she was still twirling the colored balls of light around the mistletoe, she was also smiling at the two of them.

Ron stood up and offered his hand to Hermione. She took it, and he led her to a small open space behind the couch they had been sitting at. Almost as if on cue, the song that had been playing ended and was replaced with a slow song, courtesy of the Weird Sisters.

Mrs. Weasley had apparently finished telling the twins off, because with one final finger wag in their faces, she turned to go back into the kitchen. She took a glance at Ron standing hand in hand with Hermione and smiled fondly at him. He felt his ears warm up a bit and gave her a small smile.

Turning back to Hermione, Ron stepped closer to her and put his arms around her waist. Smiling, she placed her hands on the nape of his neck and left only a slight distance between them.

Fred and George had had their heads together, speaking to each other, but Ron saw the delight on their faces when they looked up to see him and Hermione standing quite close together, swaying slightly to the music.

Ron was reveling in how lucky he was to finally be able to do something like this with Hermione and not be uncomfortably aware of obvious he was being when he heard Luna cry out, "Oh, look, there they are!"

He and Hermione both looked up to see the mistletoe sprig flying away from Luna's hands, using what appeared to be 3 pairs of leathery, violet wings, flapping madly. The mistletoe rose steadily higher until it was very close to the ceiling. Then the nargles keep their wings beating up and down but kept their position. Ron was just about to turn back to Hermione when he saw the mistletoe plummet down towards where they were standing. Thinking back to what Luna had said, he smiled and whispered to Hermione, "I think they're targeting us."

She looked surprised. Biting her lip, she joined his gaze directly above them, where the nargles had positioned themselves with the mistletoe. Behind Hermione, Ron could see Fred, George, Harry, Ginny, and Luna all watching intently to see what they would do. Feeling his heart beating madly, Ron locked eyes with Hermione. He noticed her eyes were slightly wide and she looked like she had no idea what he was thinking.

But, come to think of it, he wasn't sure what was going through his mind either.

Everyone was watching them and holding their breath; he was very much aware He tightened his grip on Hermione and said, very softly, "I think it's time to tell them." Without waiting for her to respond, he leaned towards her, closed his eyes, and let his mouth connect with hers, feeling the same bursts of electricity going through him.

At the same time, he heard a cacophony of sounds, so much noise that the music was drowned out. Someone was clapping; he heard Harry's voice ("_Whoa!_"); the twins were screaming, "WITNESSES! THE FIRST WITNESSES!"

When he opened his eyes, he saw Ginny and Luna looking at them with wide, happy eyes; Harry's mouth was hanging open; and the twins were running around him and Hermione in a circle, their wands to their throats, screaming, "FRED AND GEORGE, PRANKSTERS EXTRAORDINAIRE, FIRST WITNESSES!" Then they set off more fireworks, the noise surpassing the one that they had made before.

Ron looked at Hermione, to see her reaction. She was grinning, positively aglow, and he knew he'd done the right thing when she threw her arms around him and said in his ear, "Thanks, Ron."

He was rubbing her back gently when he saw his mum come in. She took one look at the running twins and bellowed, "_FINITE INCANTATEM!_" Immediately, the fireworks disappeared, Fred's and George's voices returned to normal, and the music stopped playing. Ron pulled away from Hermione and turned to see his mother looking livid.

"_WHAT _is the meaning of this? Are you two absolutely _deaf?!_" She was glaring at both twins, who still looked like they had won a million Galleons.

"_Mother!_" they both said gleefully.

"You had to see it!" Fred shouted.

"Hell, we'll just ask them to do it again!" George yelled.

"What?" asked Mrs. Weasley.

Fred and George turned to look at Ron and Hermione, who were now standing side by side, hand in hand. Ron tried to find a good way to explain to his mother what had happened, but the twins beat him to it.

"Your Prefect Ronniekins, Mum..." George began.

"Just snogged the beautiful Miss Granger!" Fred finished with a flourish.

"Oh, stop it, you two!" Mrs. Weasley said, waving them away and taking a breath to start telling them off again. Ginny, however, had some input.

"It's...it's true, Mum." She sounded quite shocked.

Mrs. Weasley took one look at her son and the girl next to him, as if seeing them for the first time. Then her face split into a huge grin; she hurried over to where they were standing and then threw her arms around both of them, mumbling something about something "wonderful" and being "so glad" and them being "perfect for each other."

And Ron, held in the embrace of his mother and the girl he cared about most in the world, felt that finally, some things really made sense.

END POV 

A/n: So? And, for the record, I wanted to get this up on Hermione's birthday, and I got it done, because here in California it is 10:40 P.M., September 19. So there you go P. Please review, everyone, and tell me what you think!


	12. Fair is Foul

A/n: Yes, so it's been ten thousand years in a Cave of Wonders since I've updated. But now I'm doing it so rejoice, all. This fic is ending with the next chapter…so hang on to your turbans, people…

Oh, and about the freaky "End Pov" notes that come after every end of a certain POV…those are necessary because nothing else I do to separate narratives shows up once I upload the chapter. Sorry, I know they're weird, but we must deal with them.

Disclaimer: If I owned things and everything else I fall in love with, I would have a hell of a lot of rubbish.

Dedicated to Figgy by her own demands, because she encouraged me to get this chapter written, although only for selfish reasons and despite the fact that the end could make her barf.

And of course…Happy Holidays and Merry Counting Down To July 16th to all!

NSH Chapter 12: Fair is Foul

_Bones, sinking like stones_

_All that we've fought for_

_Homes, places we've grown_

_All of us are done for_

To the civilians of Ottery St. Catchpole, the Burrow had never been a normal place in any sense of the word. Most of the neighbors (the Muggle ones, naturally) would ogle at the building with expressions of mild concern for this funny little house that seemed on the verge of tipping over. Not only that, but customarily, strange noises of all sorts could be heard coming from all over the Burrow.

Christmas Day was no different.

"You know," Luna Lovegood said, pointing her wand at the fingernail of her left index finger so that it turned a different color every time she flicked her wrist, "I can always hear when you guys are degnoming the garden, from a few houses down. And it's not because I have a Muggle megaphone sitting by my open window." She stopped changing the color of her nail and watched the trajectory of a particularly fat gnome flying through the air. "You have really loud gnomes," she finished.

Ginny made a grunt of what could either be of agreement or extreme discomfort. She had had every intention of skipping the week's degnoming, sure that her mother would exempt them from the arduous task on _Christmas Day_, of all days.

How wrong she was.

Although Mrs. Weasley had been in a splendid mood all day (especially after the incident involving her youngest son), as soon as they had finished eating dinner she had assigned the teenagers of the group a job. The girls were stuck with the over-crazed gnomes who seemed to be extra energized from the smell of food wafting out of the house.

Hermione sighed, glaring at an agile gnome fleeing her outstretched hands. She had to agree with Ginny's attitude on the job. Still… "At least we didn't get Fred and George's assignment."

Ginny had to snigger. "Yeah," she said, gazing up at the small attic window, "that ghoul is particularly nasty during the holidays. I'd hate to have to deal with him."

"Don't let them hear you say that," Hermione said, smiling at the younger girl. "They might get ideas."

"Oh, those prats know me well enough to recognize that that would make me want to tear my hair out of my head," Ginny said. She swiped at a short gnome that was running by and caught him by the left ankle.

"Actually," Luna said, waving at a flying gnome that Hermione had just flung over the bushes, "I've always thought that if a person really tried to rip their hair out in anger, they would just end up in tears."

Ginny stopped twirling the gnome about her head as she though about Luna's words. "Maybe," she said, "but it'd be a nice way to vent out the anger, don't you think?"

"Oh, no, I think it would be dreadful. It involves pain to your head," Luna said, returning to her nails. "It is much easier to cry your anger out. But that, of course, involves pain to your heart."

Ginny made a disgusted noise. "Nobody likes that." She glanced at Hermione, who was staring far off into the sky, long after she had thrown a gnome in that direction. "You, of course," Ginny said to her, smirking, "don't have to worry about that at this particular moment, do you?"

"I doubt she's listening, Ginny dear," Luna said. "She might have seen Ronald's face on that gnome and now is pondering whether to retrieve 'him' or not."

"What?" Hermione said, turning to look at her companions.

Ginny nodded and said, "I see."

"The very mention of Ronald's name brings you back to us," Luna added.

Hermione smiled. "No, I was listening. You said that…the twins were, er, ripping the ghoul's hair out."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Wow, you've had an overdose of my brother."

"Excuse me?" Hermione said as Luna snickered.

"Please don't make me repeat it," Ginny said, waving a hand at her. "Sure, I'm happy for you, but that doesn't mean I have to take much of your spit swap. He's my _brother_. We have, like, the same chromosome source."

"Spit swap?" A blush was creeping into Hermione's cheeks.

"Yes," Luna said, nodding vigorously. "She's referring to that little kiss you shared indoors, which I'm sure it had nothing to do with the mistletoe."

"You think?" Ginny said. She shot Hermione a smile. "Well, at least you might not have to put up with the twins' teasing about the two of you."

It was apparently not so, though, because at that very moment, one of the aforementioned twins poked his head out of the attic window, far above where the girls were standing. Almost immediately, his brother's identical head joined in the fun. They saw Hermione and shared an uncanny mischievous grin.

"Oh, Hermione!" they both sang. Ginny and Luna started to laugh in anticipation; Hermione, on the other hand, covered her eyes with one hand.

"What?" she said cautiously.

"We notice that you are speaking," one of the twins said.

"Of course she is, George, you twit," Ginny said, but the laughter in her voice was all too evident.

"Thank you, Ginevra, for the kind words of encouragement," George said. "We are not done, however."

"How right you are," Fred said. "My dearest brother, freely speaking requires one's mouth, does it not?"

"Indeed it does, Fantastic Fred," George replied.

"Ah," Fred said, looking down at Hermione. "And one cannot freely speak if one's mouth is, let's say, attached to another?"

"No, one cannot!" George responded heartily.

"Which leads me to my next question," Fred continued, now looking back down towards Hermione. "Where is my beloved younger brother Ronniekins, who apparently is capable of freely speaking himself at the moment?"

Hermione shook her head, smiling. "Not with me, couldn't you tell?"

"Oh, it was _most _evident, don't get us wrong, Hermione," Fred said.

"We just though you might have some sort of mouth-to-mouth communication with him."

"Do you?" Fred cocked his head to the side.

Hermione looked up at the twins pleasantly and said, "Gentlemen, I really would _love_ to discuss this further with you, but I suggest you get back to the ghoul lest your mother unleash her wrath on both of you rather than the ghoul."

"Imaginative, aren't you?" George said, exchanging an amused grin with his brother.

"Oh, I like to think so," Hermione responded. With that, she turned her back on them and lifted her latest gnome high in the air. The twins sniggered for a bit, went back inside the attic, and shut the window.

"Geroff meee!"

Hermione nodded after the flying gnome with satisfaction as she dusted her hands off. "Well, ladies," she said, looking at Ginny and Luna, who were still quite red from all the laughing they'd done, "what shall we do now?"

"I daresay the boys aren't done with their work yet," said Luna. She tucked her wand behind her ear and gazed expectantly at Ginny, as if waiting for a command from her.

"Of course they're not," Ginny said. "Harry will be unbearably quiet around Ron until they get around to discussing Hermione, which will lead to more awkwardness, which will require fooling around to get rid of."

Hermione had both eyebrows raised. "I don't think so, Ginny."

"Oh, believe me, I _know_ Harry."

"I was under the impression that I did, too." She appeared to be mildly hurt.

Ginny shook her head. "I didn't mean it that way, Hermione."

"She means that boys will be boys," Luna said, gazing at something far behind Hermione in the afternoon sky. "How else do you think Harry could react to you and Ron?"

Hermione bit her lip. "Well…he could be, you know, surprised."

Ginny and Luna laughed. "Please, Hermione," Ginny said, "nobody was surprised, in the least bit, by that. We were appalled at how long it took the two of you to finally get to this point, yes, but we were not _surprised_."

"I think the twins were," Luna said. "They were saying you two would probably dance around the subject for a few more months, even bet with Ginny on it."

"Gin!" Hermione said reprovingly.

"What? It's not like the rest of Gryffindor house wasn't betting on it. Dean bet Seamus his favorite socks that you and Ron would be together by the end of Easter break."

"Socks only?" Luna said, looking disappointed. "Shame."

"O-kay, that's quite enough for one day," said Hermione, starting towards the kitchen door of the Burrow.

"Oh, _no_, it most certainly is _not_," Ginny said. She lunged at Hermione's retreating back and caught her right arm. Hermione tugged, trying to free her arm, but Ginny would not give.

"Come, Hermione, trying to avoid the subject is like attempting to digest Hagrid's rock cakes," Luna pointed out.

Hermione sighed and stopped struggling. She turned her head and asked, "What details?"

"Don't be stupid, you know what I mean," said Ginny, dragging her over to where Luna was sitting. She pushed her down and then sat before the two of them. "How did it happen?"

"_No_, I am not having this conversation in the middle of your backyard, well in eavesdropping distance of any renegade Extendable Ears." That said, Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and looked away.

"You being petulant is not a pretty sight, Hermione, so stop it."

Luna laughed. "I agree."

"You two are being extremely silly. There's nothing to tell."

"There's _plenty_ to tell," they chorused.

Hermione buried her head in her hands. The image of the night when Harry told her and Ron that he had kissed Cho kept playing repeatedly in her mind, not because it was, in a very distorted sort of way, similar to her present dilemma, but because she had a much better way of describing her own kiss with Ron than just "wet."

"Did he start it or did you?" Ginny asked eagerly, ignoring Hermione's discomfort.

"_Well?" Ron had said eagerly after his fit of laughter. "How was it?"_

_After a pensive moment, Harry had answered with, "Wet. Because she was crying."_

"_Oh." Not surprisingly, Ron had immediately assumed it was because Harry was an awful kisser._

"_Dunno. Maybe I am." Poor Harry, as if he didn't already feel shaken enough about the entire incident._

"_Of course you're not." And then Ron went off and asked all about how you knew that Harry wasn't a lousy kisser and how Cho would probably implode soon, because she felt so confused and troubled. That prat, he handled the whole ordeal without even considering Harry's feelings. Or mine!_

_Why do you like him so much?_

Hermione felt heat rushing to her cheeks. "Er…I did."

"All RIGHT! Now we're talking," Ginny said jubilantly.

"Ginny," Hermione said, looking up at her, "do you have _any _idea how much like your brother you are?"

For a moment, Ginny looked disturbed. "This doesn't mean you want to snog me, does it? Because you should really just stick to Ron…"

"Do you want me to go back inside now?" Hermione said, glaring at Ginny.

"Sorry, it was just kind of a weird thing to say right after telling us _you _kissed _him_."

"Well, we wouldn't have gotten anywhere if I hadn't!"

Ginny and Luna exchanged looks full of something Hermione really could not place. "I see. Now why do you say this?" Ginny asked.

"Because…" _Now you've signed some sort of contract with them, they'll never let you off the hook. _"Because he kind of just stood there after he'd told me all these really nice things."

"Oh?" Luna said, patting her feet absentmindedly. She gave Hermione an encouraging grin, which somehow only made Hermione feel more nauseous.

"He said that I was really important to him and how he really wanted to know everything about me but even if he didn't he was just content with having me around. And then he said he'd never liked a person so much."

"Wow," Luna murmured, and for once, Hermione got the feeling that the girl wasn't stuck in some dream world of her own.

Ginny smiled. "You never know Ron's got it in him till he does something nice like that."

Hermione nodded. "Wise words, Gin."

"I've had to live with him most of my life, I should know." She smiled nostalgically and then glanced back at Hermione. "How about the actual kiss? How was _that_?"

Smiling almost to herself, Hermione said, "I felt…safe."

"Safe."

"Ginny, don't say it like I'm mental," Hermione said, batting a hand at Ginny's arm.

"Sorry, but it's just…not the first thing that comes to mind when I think of kissing."

"I wouldn't know," Luna interjected. Hermione gave her a sympathetic smile and then said, "Everything just felt right about it, so it made me feel safe. Like I didn't have to run away from it or anything."

"What about surreal? Did you get that feeling?" Ginny said, looking over her shoulder to the kitchen window, where a head of red hair and another of black could be seen.

"Oh, definitely. But you know what? It wasn't awkward at all. It was like we were both used to it or something," Hermione said.

"Well, you will be now. Which means Ron will probably drag you into snog fests and ugh, he's my brother." Ginny waved her hand in the air and made a disgusted face. "Not that there's anything wrong with you snogging him or anything."

"Must we use that word?" Hermione asked, feeling heat in her cheeks.

"Oh, we must," Ginny answered without hesitation. "I just don't know how you put up with him, really."

Hermione laughed. "To tell you the truth, I don't know either."

"He's a funny chap," Luna said.

"That he is," Ginny said, nodding. "And he's good for you, Hermione."

Smiling like she had never thought she could, Hermione said, "Yes. I think so too."

**END POV**

There had never been a quieter dishwashing in the Weasley household. Of course, dishwashing had always been reason for disgruntlement at the Burrow, but there was no such thing as a quiet activity where a Weasley child was concerned.

Except, naturally, for this instant.

Harry didn't know it. He did not have a statistics guide to the level of silence at the Burrow handy, but he really was not in the mood for anything of the sort anyway. On the contrary, all he really felt like doing was just what he was doing that very instant: staring blankly at the 3 somewhat rusty pots sitting in front of him, ready to be dried.

Ron was the one washing, poor boy. He had to deal with all the misfortunes of fugitive bubbles aiming for his nostrils and had a dreadful case of wet sleeves. However, this did not seem to put a dampen on him, no pun intended.

Which, of course, made Harry feel even more nauseous.

Not that he wasn't _happy _that Ron was happy. He liked that his best friend was jubilant and nothing but for once. He just wished Ron wasn't so _obviously _happy. It was a bit revolting, in his eyes.

"Er…you done with those pots, Harry?" Ron asked. _Ugh_, Harry thought, feeling a new wave of queasiness settling down in his stomach, _he sounds happy even when he's asking about **pots**, for Merlin's sake._

"No. Not quite."

"Oh. Well…should I wash more dishes or wait for you to finish drying those or…" Ron's voice trailed off, and Harry did not want to see if it was because he was looking out the bloody window at the bloody backyard full of snow and Hermione.

"I reckon you could. I'll just…keep drying."

"All right, then."

And then they didn't say anything. It was quite uncommon for there to be awkward silences between them. Especially not ridiculous ones such as this particular silence. Harry glanced at Ron, who was dipping a dish into the soapy water, and looked back at the pots.

There was one that was farther away than the other two. Ron hadn't done a very good job of thoroughly getting the soap off that one. Sure, it shone nicely, but not as much as the other two.

_I think I need to sleep._

"You know…we were going to tell you."

Ron's single statement made Harry decide that, no, maybe sleep wasn't the answer. Repeatedly hitting his head against the tabletop sounded like a much better solution to this problem. Why did he want to talk about Hermione?

_Why do you **not **want to talk about her?_

"Is that so?" he answered vaguely. He shoved the soapy pot closer to the other two but made no movement to dry any of them.

The splashing sounds that had been coming from Ron's direction stopped. _He really is insisting, isn't he?_

"I wonder why your mum won't let us use magic to wash these dishes," Harry mumbled, slowly wiping a spot on the countertop with the rag intended for the pots.

"She thinks that this is the right way, even though it takes longer," Ron answered. Harry could feel his eyes boring a hole on the side of his head.

_Fine._

"When did it happen, then?" he asked, barely glancing up at Ron.

"Oh."

Harry waited for him to elaborate. He didn't. "Well?"  
Ron looked at the wet dish in his hands and then back up at Harry. "When did…mum decide that this was the right way to wa—?"

"Don't be stupid, Ron." This was going to be much more difficult than he'd expected.

"Last night."

"I see." When last night? He was with them the entire time. "I…didn't notice."

"No, it was…later."

Later? Why the bloody hell would they be up _later_? "What happened?"

Ron put the dish down and started mopping his hands on the apron his mother had thrown on him. "Well. I, er, told her. You know."

_Of course I don't, you git, that's why I'm asking. _"You said, 'Hermione, I've liked you for the longest time but haven't been able to tell you'?"

"After a little bit of rambling, yes."

"What did she say to that?"

Ron didn't answer. Harry saw his eyes move towards the kitchen window and he followed his gaze. Hermione and Ginny were standing around with a couple of really fat gnomes while Luna sat in the snow doing something to her hand. Looking back at Ron, Harry was disgusted to see a rare stupid smile covering his face.

"Ron?"

"Eh?"

"What did she say when you told her that?"

"Oh. Um. Nothing much, see."

_Oh, for the love of Quidditch. _"All right…what did she _do_? Is that a better question?"

Ron's ears reddened. "In a sense, yes."

"In what sense?"

"I mean, yeah, sure, good question."

"Is there an actual answer to it that doesn't involve further questions from me?"

This made him smile. "Yeah." Harry raised an eyebrow, which apparently made no sense to Ron whatsoever.

"What did she do?"

"I imagine she was glad."

"Okay…did she kiss you?"

"Kind of."

"_Kind of? _Ron, how could she _possibly _have _kind of _kissed you?"

Ron looked like he'd run a marathon, his face was so red. "Okay, yes, then."

"She kissed you."

"Yes!" He picked up the plate and started dunking it repeatedly in the soapy water.

Harry put out an arm and held the plate above the water before it could hit the water again. "I think you've washed that one enough, Ron."

"Reckon so, yeah." He fumbled with the plate for a few seconds and then let Harry take it.

Slowly dragging the rag over the sopping plate, Harry considered what else there might be to discuss. Of course there was, but that subject was something that should best be left untouched. However…he was much too curious to keep his mouth shut. "So…are you two…?"

"I guess so."

"Oh."

"But…" Ron turned to look at him and set the plate in his hand down with a loud _clank_. "This doesn't change anything, all right? We're all still best friends."

"Yeah, except you can snog her and I can't."

"Harry!"

"I'm not saying I want to snog her or anything—"

"I know."

"But I don't want to have to witness much of _you _two doing that—"

"I know."

"Because I _swear_, you have no idea how weird it is."

Ron gave him a withering look, and Harry realized that his friend knew all too well how "weird" it was.

"Sorry."

Ron let a smile spread across his face. "It's all right."

They were both silent again for a few moments more. But then Harry emitted a very audible snigger that Ron questioned without hesitation.

"What?"

"It's just…good job, mate."

And with that, the two shared a ridiculously boyish high five, laughing and completely ignoring the unfinished dishes.

END POV

The book lying open in Hermione's lap was the main focus of her attention. Being back home gave her the feeling that she was younger again. It evoked many a memory of coming home from the library with a stack of books to sit in this very couch and read for hours. She had always been quite content to do just that.

But now so much more crossed her mind as she scanned the words of the book. The story seemed a little dull, even, compared to what had been happening in her life as of late. Smiling secretly to herself, she turned a page of the book and stopped reading. She looked out the window at the snowy patch of white that was her front lawn. Beyond that, the houses of her old neighborhood stretched out, some with dilapidated snowmen that'd remained standing for a bit longer after their moments of glory. At the outer edges of all the yards, the snow was tinged with brown, dirtied by the passing cars and the dirt trying to peek out from under it.

Everything about this place told her she had once loved being here, so much that she would refuse to go on family vacations as a child. But coming back to this house and this neighborhood after all the things she had seen and done seemed nonsensical, as if this place was just one other in the books that seemed like it could be real but in the end it wasn't.

Hogwarts was more real to her than her own house, and it made her understand why she sometimes felt so out of place with her parents, to say nothing of Lennie lately. The Christmas holiday so far had held nice moments of being back with her parents and of seeing an old friend, but she knew that she would never be able to leave the magical world for this. How could she? She'd fallen in love with the magical world. And, of course, the people in it.

Shaking her head, she decided to put such thoughts aside and enjoy the rest of the time she had here, even though she knew perfectly well that returning to Hogwarts would please her greatly. She held the book up and continued reading, letting herself become so immersed in its pages that she heard no sound apart of her breathing.

She most certainly couldn't hear the sound of tentative footsteps behind her, so she had no idea that a red haired follower was creeping up to where she sat. However, when she felt a hand come out from behind her and tuck her hair behind one ear, she smiled and looked up at Ron's smiling face.

"You finished all your homework ages ago," he said, taking his hand away and using it to keep himself steady as he jumped over the back of the couch and landed next to her. He was wearing the red "Keeper" shirt she'd given him for Christmas.

She couldn't help but smile. "Don't do that." Patting his feet off the couch, she said, "And, yes, I have finished all my homework already, but not all reading involves homework, you know."

"Fascinating, I actually had no idea," he answered sarcastically.

"You really should try reading one of these days," she said encouragingly.

"I read."

She gave him a Look. "I meant something other than Quidditch magazines."

"Actually, I try to keep out of those things because there's _always _something about that git in there," Ron replied with a bitter tone that must have been more out of habit than anything. After all, did he really need to keep that up?

"Ron, do you find it necessary to still insult him?"

Ron grinned. "Just because I came out the better man doesn't mean I don't think he's a git."

Hermione looked away, smiling. He seemed to be quite proud of "coming out the better man."

There was silence for a few minutes, during which time Hermione tried to concentrate on the page she was reading but couldn't, being distinctly aware that Ron was still in the room. She herself did not feel like reading much anymore. Feeling her cheeks warm up, she closed the book with a light _thud_ and set it aside.

"Hey," Ron said softly, and she looked up to see him studying his hands. "So…thanks for the shirt." He met her eyes and plucked at the right arm of his shirt. "It's brilliant."

She nodded, biting her lip. "I'm glad you like it."

"I love it." He seemed a bit sheepish after he said that; he quickly averted his eyes to the very dull coffee table in front of them. She saw him tapping his fingers against his leg, which only made her smile more. Intending to say something, she opened her mouth, but he spoke first.

"Yesterday was fun, eh?"

"Oh. Yes. I suppose the twins never change, do they?"

Ron snorted. "That is something Ginny and I learned at a very early age."

Hermione laughed lightly and then there was silence again. Knowing him for so many years had given her the advantage of being able to know when he wanted to say something, and she knew there was one particular thing he wanted to divulge but didn't know how to.

"You know…" He cleared his throat. "I told Harry."

This surprised her. It felt very odd indeed to imagine Ron and Harry discussing her. "Oh?"

Ron glanced at her and then back at the coffee table. "Yeah."

"How did he take it?"

A shrug. "He wasn't exactly thrilled. Sounded a bit resigned. But…that's expected, right?"

Hermione responded with a shrug of her own. "I guess it must be a little odd for him."

"Like it wasn't odd for me? Him and Ginny, I mean."

"I know. He'll get used to it, though. You did…to him and Ginny." _You really don't need to keep clearing it up, you know, both of you understand what you're talking about. _

"Yeah, I suppose so." Hermione was somewhat disheartened to see that he did not at all look comforted. She scooted over so she was sitting right next to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

"He's your best friend, Ron. I'm sure he understands," she said.

Ron smiled. "I know he understand. I just think he might need to carry something he can be sick into for a bit before he can regain control of his stomach around us." This made them both laugh, and it eased the tension of knowing that things with their best friend were about to change. To say nothing of each other, of course.

"But anyway…thanks again for the shirt." Oh, there was definitely something else on his mind. Poor boy.

"It was my pleasure, Ron, I just had to get it for you," she replied.

He didn't say anything after that, only turned his head slightly to look at her. Then he leaned forward slowly and kissed her softly on the lips for a few seconds. When he pulled back, he ran a hand through his hair and mumbled, "Can I?"

She smiled and tentatively touched his cheek. "Of course you can, Ron."

His cheeks reddened and he said, "Well…I know." He laughed and then added, "I just meant… your parents…"

"Oh!" Hermione had to laugh too, feeling slightly stupid. "Well, they're not here right now."

"Ah."

"Yes."

Ron's eyes darted around the room and then came back to meet hers. "All right," he mumbled, and then slowly reached up to cup her face in his hands. Then he kissed her, a deep and long kiss that made her relax against him and forget that she had been reading at all that afternoon.

After a few minutes of kissing—which was turning out to be quite the involving pastime indeed—Ron pulled away and said, "Now we certainly know why everyone likes to snog so much."

"Must you use that word? It's so raw." She said this with a bit of a scolding tone in her voice, but she was smiling nonetheless.

"I think it's a funny word."

"It's rude!"

Ron looked pensive for a moment. Then he said, "I really don't care what it is; I just love what it means." And he kissed her again, maybe to shut her up or maybe to prove his point. Then the doorbell rang, loud and resonant throughout the empty house.

"Ron."

He grinned and caught her mouth with his. She kissed him back for a few moments and the pulled away. "Ron," she said again, sitting up. "Did you not hear the doorbell?"

"Vaguely, yeah." He tugged at her arm, trying to bring her back down. "It can't be your parents, though, they would have a key."

Hermione considered this for a moment. "Well…" Before she could get another word out, Ron pulled her down into another deep kiss. Hermione smiled against his lips, putting her fingers in his hair for a moment, and then pulled away slightly.

"Come on, someone has to answer it," she said.

Then a voice behind them said, in a strangled sort of tone, "Yeah, I'm on it."

Both Ron and Hermione bolted upright to see Harry dash out of the room.

"Poor chap," Ron said, looking after him but smiling nonetheless.

"All right, off," Hermione scolded. She stood up and beckoned him to do the same. He did, kissed her lightly on the cheek, and then went after Harry. Hermione touched her face, noticing how warm it was, and then straightened her hair out, which was no easy feat.

Walking into the foyer, she saw Harry and Ron greeting Lennie. A smile spread across both girls' faces when they saw each other. "Hermione!" Lennie cooed, walking up to Hermione and giving her a hug. "How was your Christmas?"

Hermione's eyes flickered towards Ron, who was too obviously biting back a smile. "Lovely," she answered, grinning herself.

Lennie raised an eyebrow and turned to Harry. "Am I being left in the dark about something?"

Harry looked like he'd been asked if he'd been caring for Blast-Ended Skrewts. He mumbled something that sounded like, "Lucky you" and then awkwardly pointed at Ron and Hermione.

"Oh," Lennie said. "So you two made up?"

Ron laughed. Harry looked threateningly green. Hermione blinked rapidly for a few moments and said, "Er, yes. Actually—"

"Let's just say they made up a little too well," Harry supplied.

"_Oh_," Lennie replied, looking amused. "Well, it's about time, isn't it?"

Hermione raised her eyebrows and said, "Come again?" while, at the same time, Ron nodded and offered an "I'll say."

All of them had to laugh, even Harry, who still looked like he'd swallowed something volatile.

"So, gang, we come to the sad good-bye," Lennie said, once the laughter had died down. "I'm leav—"

"What?" Hermione interrupted. "But there are still 5 days left of Christmas holidays!"

"I know. But a couple of friends from school and I were planning this ski trip. We're going to America!" she explained enthusiastically.

"And here I thought we were the only fools who ski," Ron mused. Hermione glared.

"Skiing is a lovely sport," she said reproachfully.

"Right. Attaching two thin sticks to your feet and then chucking yourself off a mountain while trying to maneuver with two other sticks sounds fascinating," he retorted.

"I second that," Harry said, nodding.

"You two are quite the act, do you know that?" Lennie said, somewhat wistfully.

"Don't encourage them," Hermione warned, but she was smiling.

"We don't mean to bash your trip, Lennie," Ron said.

"But we don't see the point in skiing," Harry finished.

Lennie laughed. "Your point has been made." She paused for a moment and said, "Thank you all, though, for a really great time. Best time I've had in years around here, I'd say." She hugged each one of them in turn and said, "I'm really going to miss you. But I hope we'll see each other again sometime."

"Don't worry, we won't keep Hermione away from here for too long," Ron said, taking Hermione's hand. "I think we're all pretty taken with this place."

Lennie smiled. "Well, congratulations to the two of you"—they both blushed—"and, Harry, I hope you'll be well, so you can come back and visit."

Harry looked distant for a moment, but then he nodded and said, "Can't wait."

Grinning, Lennie walked out the door, said, "Have a great new year," and then turned away from the Granger house. Hermione wondered when she'd have a chance to see her old friend again, but she knew that whenever that time came, it would be just as great as this one.

END POV

It was New Year's Eve, although not technically. Strictly speaking, it was already the new year, and everyone had finally gone to bed. Except Hermione. She couldn't seem to fall asleep.

They'd had a very eventful night; her parents had had a few friends over to celebrate New Year's, and they had all been quite punchy after a few drinks. Harry had gone over to the Burrow to see Ginny for a bit. Hermione smiled when she remembered the block of time that Ron had referred to as a "spiffing snog," which of course she scolded him for, even if what he was saying was true.

But by about 1:30 in the morning all the guests had left and her parents were completely sloshed. She had to help them both to their bedroom, where they dropped like logs onto their beds and began snoring promptly a second after Hermione had left the room.

Harry and Ron were both already asleep; she'd passed their room on her way out to the living room. Ron was settled down in a very interesting, contorted shape and she knew he was completely asleep by the unmistakable pool of drool on his pillow. Harry had just been lying very still. She had wondered whether she should wake them and the three of them could sit watching the telly until they all decided to go back to bed. But she knew they were tired and besides, was it their fault she couldn't fall asleep?

So now she was sitting in her favorite armchair, reading by wandlight. It was a bit unnerving, actually, since her house was so large and dark at this time of night. But she didn't exactly mind; she knew she'd go back upstairs sometime soon.

With that thought, she let herself fall deep within the pages of her book.

POV SHIFT

He watched the fingers of his right hand twirl the wand, over and over again until he'd stopped counting the number of times the wand spun. Now he was just doing it and staring off into the wall he was facing, lying there on the bed.

Ron was snoring very lightly behind him. Besides that, there was no sound. It should have been very easy for him to drop off to sleep. He'd had a fun night, first at the Burrow with Ginny and then back here with Ron and Hermione. There was nothing eating away at him that was keeping him up.

But all he wanted to do was keep his eyes open.

His scar was prickling unpleasantly. It wasn't a constant stab, though; just that tingling feeling, like when his foot "fell asleep." Barely there, but it didn't go away. He could only wonder what it meant. Had he ever had any answers about his scar? No, of course not.

It was only a label that spelled out "Harry Potter" in strange symbols that only meant "The Boy Who Lived" and nothing more. And sometimes…it led to so much more.

POV SHIFT

The light of Hermione's wand made it impossible to see much except the words of the particular page that was lit. It was kind of nice, since it showed so well what she became whenever she read; immersed in the book, detached from the outside world.

That, however, did not stop her from feeling the wand tip that was suddenly being pressed against her throat.

A strong hand grabbed her left shoulder firmly and dug the wand even closer to the right side of her neck. Every muscle in her body froze and she felt her breathing grow ragged. She couldn't see who her attacker was, but she had many guesses, each worse than the former.

Then a voice by her ear said, "Don't move and don't make a sound. You're next, Mudblood."

Unmistakably Lucius Malfoy. And now she could hear more sounds around her, hissing noises that she could only identify through Harry. She felt tears form in her wide eyes.

"Well, well, well," said a woman's voice. "If it isn't little baby Potter's little baby girlfriend."

Hermione closed her eyes, trying to even her breathing. It was that woman from the Department of Mysteries…the one who'd killed Sirius.

She saw small bubbles of light appearing in the darkness outside her own wandlight. The Death Eaters were lighting their wands; her light was completely unnecessary. "Nox," she murmured, and her light went out.

Malfoy pressed the wand against her neck and hissed, "No sudden movements, you filth."

By shadow of the dim light she could see the tall shapes of the Death Eaters detach themselves from the dark background and loom before her.

"Now, then," Lucius Malfoy said, keeping a firm grip on her. The other Death Eaters laughed. "What do you say we go find ourselves a hero?"

POV SHIFT

There was a noise like shattering glass that echoed through the dark hallways and made Ron shoot up and look around.

It was very dark, probably sometime after two or three in the morning. Harry had his back to him and he was lying very still. Ron took a deep breath, having been startled by the noise, and reached for his wand. He'd just…look around outside. No harm done.

He was up and walking towards the door when he stopped. Harry's steady breathing behind him told him his friend must be asleep. Nevertheless, he turned around and sought Harry's face. He jumped when Harry's head suddenly turned and said, "What?"

"Sorry, I…" He ran a hand through his hair. "Did you hear that noise?"

"Pretty damn loud, yeah, I heard it," Harry said, turning away again.

Ron nodded. "What do you think it is?"

Harry made an exasperated noise. "I don't know, Ron, a cat? Let's just go to sleep."

Ron looked down at his hand, gripping the wand tightly, and then looked back up to Harry, who seemed to not care very much. Maybe he was right, maybe it was just…

Abruptly, Harry stood up, wand in hand, and walked up to where Ron was standing. "Let's go."

Without another word, both of them made their way quietly down the stairs towards the source of the sound, the living room. About halfway down the stairs, they heard voices.

"What do you reckon?" Ron whispered.

Harry didn't answer. He looked straight ahead for a few moments and continued down the stairs, motioning for Ron to follow behind him. At the bottom step, Harry carefully craned his head around the wall for a moment. Then he turned back to Ron, pale as a ghost.

"What?" Ron asked, afraid he already knew the answer.

Harry put a hand to his forehead. "Death Eaters," he whispered. "They've got Hermione."

Ron felt his heart do a painful lurch. He gripped his wand tightly and gritted his teeth. "What do we do?" he choked.

Harry looked as startled as Ron felt. "I…I don't know. We can't take on all of them. And the Grangers…"

"They won't _touch _them," Ron growled.

"Quiet." Harry looked around desperately in the dark. "All right, we'll…we'll go back upstairs and get the Cloak and…no, no, that'll be something else we'll have to worry about, it would just get in our way…"

"Harry, calm down," Ron whispered, although he felt nowhere near calm himself.

"Silencing Charms on our feet. That's what we'll do."

"What?"

Without responding, Harry pointed his wand at his feet and muttered, "_Silencio!_" and then did the same to his own. "They won't hear us coming."

"And what else do you propose we do, not breathe?" Ron noticed a slight urgency in his voice.

"Stop it, don't panic," Harry muttered, closing his eyes and moving his lips soundlessly.

"Harry, we can't do this."

His best friend looked up to meet his eyes. "So, what, do we leave her out there with them?"

Ron listened to the voices, talking rapidly and sometimes laughing. He thought of Hermione sitting amidst them, trying to figure out what to do and knowing there was nothing she could do. She probably thought she would die tonight. "No," Ron said, both in answer to Harry's question and the thoughts in his head.

"Then let's g—"

There was a sudden flash of light that flew just past Harry's head. Both boys looked at each other with wide eyes and knew they'd been heard. Harry looked like he was in pain for a moment, and then without a word stepped out from behind the wall and shouted, "_Expelliarmus!_"

There was a roar from the Death Eaters. Ron looked around, trying to figure out where to go. They couldn't both be caught in the same place, that would lessen their chances. He glanced at Harry, who had dodged behind a couch, and said under his breath, "Good luck, mate," then took off up the stairs. He tore past the upstairs corridors until he found a window. Taking a deep breath, he opened it, pocketed his wand, and then swiftly jumped out of it.

He landed on the snowy ground with a thud that knocked the air out of him. There would certainly be bruises involved, but otherwise he was fine. Brushing snow off himself, he ran to the door and then walked inside the house as quietly as he could.

When he caught sight of the living room, he ducked down into the shadows and inspected the scene. There were three Death Eaters on the ground, unconscious. Two others were standing with their heads together, talking rapidly in low voices. There was one last one holding Hermione down on a chair, his wand at her throat. Ron saw no sign of Harry and knew he must be fending off the other Death Eaters.

_Get Hermione, then what? And how, for that matter? _His breathing was shallow and all too loud. Maybe he could knock out the two talking Death Eaters and then take on the one keeping watch over Hermione. But he'd be noticed as soon as he uttered a word of a spell. This was impossible! All the spells he'd learned in the D.A. were hurtling through his mind, but he had no idea how to maneuver with them.

He'd just have to take a chance.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped out of the shadows, pointed his wand at one of the talking Death Eaters, and said, "_Petrificus Totalus!_"

Before he could think about anything else, he flicked his wand towards the other Death Eater and screamed, "_Stupefy!_," then ducked as a jet of red light flew over his head.

He stood back up to see his targets lying on the ground motionless. Hermione was watching him with wide eyes as the remaining Death Eater pointed his wand at him. "_Crucio!_"

Ron had shouted "_Protego!_" before the Death Eater had finished speaking. The curse bounded off his barrier, causing the Death Eater to cry out in anger.

"Fine, boy, if all you will do is hide then _she'll _get what you're missing out on," said the unmistakable voice of Lucius Malfoy. Giving Ron no chance to stop him, he pointed his wand at Hermione and said, "_Crucio!_"

"NO!" He averted his eyes from the sight of Hermione's body writhing and tried not to hear her screams. "_Expelliarmus!_"

This sent Malfoy flying backwards. His wand flew out of his hand and the curse stopped. Hermione's screaming ceased, but she lay on the ground, whimpering. Ron ran forward and shouted, "_Stupefy!_" with his wand pointed at Malfoy, who immediately fell back down.

"Hermione," Ron said, stooping to pick her up. She was limp and there were tears on her face, but she threw her arms around him nonetheless.

"How?" she mumbled.

Ron tried to keep his composure as he stroked her back. "I don't know," he said. "We need to find Harry, though. Can you stand?"

She nodded. "They went that way." She pointed towards the dining room. "He's got to be all right…" She picked up her wand from where it lay on the ground and looked around the room.

"_STUPEFY!_ _STUPEFY!_" She shot a jet of red light at each of the motionless Death Eaters, and then turned to Malfoy. "_PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!_"

"I already got them," Ron pointed out.

"I know," she said, her voice still shaking. "But that should hold them for longer."

With that, they both took off towards the dining room.

POV SHIFT

The disarming spell shot out of Harry's wand and hit a nearby Death Eater. There were at least ten in the room, and at first this made him feel very light-headed. But seeing Hermione's eyes full of panic and remembering the night at the Department of Mysteries stirred something deep within him that made him stop thinking and start hexing.

He turned to one of the Death Eaters who was raising his wand and shouted, "_STUPEFY!_"

Without even stopping to see the curse take effect, he turned to see the Death Eater he had just disarmed reaching for his wand. "_Relashio!_" Harry shouted, pointing at his hand. Immediately, the Death Eater shrieked in pain and clutched his hand, which had turned a nasty red color.

"_Locom_—"

Harry turned to the Death Eater about to curse him and screamed, "_PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!_" The Death Eater keeled over, his wand still pointed up. That done, Harry turned back to the Death Eater he had disarmed and Stunned him.

He had done this very quickly, but now the other Death Eaters were advancing on him. One of them shot a jet of blue light at him, which he ducked. Then he shouted, "_Protego!_" and a spell another Death Eater had shot bounced off into the darkness.

Noticing there were still many Death Eaters left, he took a deep breath and then took off at a run towards the dining room. He heard Lucius Malfoy's voice shout, "AFTER HIM!"

He swerved around a table and tried to think of what to do. What rooms where there to go into? The kitchen, back to the living room…the cellar! But where the bloody hell was Ron?

A jet of red light flew over his shoulder, which prompted him to run through to the kitchen straight for the cellar door. Without looking back, he pulled the door open, slammed it shut, and said, "_Colloportus!_"

"_Lumos!_" he muttered, and as soon as a light came from the tip of his wand he raced down the stairs, ignoring the shouts coming from behind him. He missed the last step and toppled over, scraping his arm on the rough cellar floor. Now what?

From up the stairs he heard a Death Eater's voice say, "_Alohomora!_" Looking around, he decided going outside and around the house, then coming back inside was his best bet. He was about to open the door when he heard a _pop! _sound behind him and turned to find Remus Lupin looking straight at him.

He looked startled to see Harry standing there. "Out!" Harry yelled and threw himself out the door, knowing Lupin was following him. "_Colloportus!_"

They both ran up the stairs leading to the backyard. "What are you doing here?" Harry asked, although he couldn't be more relieved to have him there.

"Dumbledore told me to come," Lupin replied, glancing back down at the door.

Harry beckoned towards the front door of the house. "How did he know this was happening?"

"I'm not sure. All he said was that Neville had told him this was going on."

Harry stopped in his tracks. "What?" Then a booming noise came from the cellar door. "Nevermind, then, let's go."

They ran inside the house and found six Death Eaters, including Malfoy, lying unconscious in the living room. Hermione was no longer there.

"Ron," Harry said, grinning.

"Best not take any chances with these," Lupin said, and Harry saw his eyes linger on the Death Eater he'd disarmed, whose mask had come off to reveal the face of Rodolphus Lestrange.

"_Adumbro eliciolicitum_," Lupin said, flicking his wand at Lestrange. He repeated the spell with all the other Death Eaters and explained to Harry, "This will make their shadows keep them in place."

"All right," Lupin said, grabbing Harry by the shoulders. "Go up and see if Hermione's parents are all right. Dumbledore should be here by now."

Harry nodded, feeling encouraged by the thought that Dumbledore would come to help. There was a scuffling sound at the door, then a _pop! _close behind them. Harry turned to see Kingsley and Tonks standing there, wands at the ready.

"Wotcher, Harry," Tonks said, in a solemn tone that was quite odd on her. Kingsley gave him a nod and then the sound of the door opening made Harry turn back.

"Go, Harry!" Lupin said, as Tonks and Kingsley Stunned an incoming Death Eater each.

He took off up the stairs, conjuring a Shield Charm just in case one of the Death Eaters decided to target him. Seeing the darkness of the second floor loom closer made him hope dearly that Dumbledore was already somewhere inside this house.

POV SHIFT

"Ron, wait," Hermione said, looking down the dark cellar stairs. "I'm worried about my parents. I don't know if any of the Death Eaters might have…" Her voice trailed off and she looked like she was trying very hard not to cry.

Ron felt very much at a loss. He knew that there were at least four Death Eaters following Harry. As much as he had faith in his friend's skill, it would be exceedingly hard for Harry to deal with four armed Death Eaters, much less five or six. "Hermione, Harry is alone with a hell of a lot of Death Eaters."

"I know!" She kicked the wall and said, "I know but…Ron, my parents have no way of defending themselves. They could die!"

Ron was afraid she would say something like that. "Okay, don't think like that," he said. He gave her a quick hug and said, "We will go and check on your parents. Then you'll have to stay with them while I go find Harry."

"But you can't go alone."

"We don't have any other choice, now come on." He took her hand and they ran back to the stairs and up to the second floor. Hermione led the way to her parents' room, and Ron knew she was terrified; her hand was shaking like mad.

She stood in front of their door for what seemed like a lifetime. Ron couldn't help but think of all the things that could be happening to Harry and willed her to open the door. He gave her hand a squeeze, which must have served as some encouragement because she turned the doorknob and walked inside.

The room was so peaceful you would never have thought there was a small battle going on outside. Mr. and Mrs. Granger were lying in their bed, breathing steadily. Hermione sighed and was about to speak when there was a burst of flame. She shrieked, the Grangers woke up, and a dark shape appeared by the window.

"Hermione? Ron? Is everything all right?" Mrs. Granger said, and then she screamed as well, having noticed the man standing by the window.

"My apologies, madam," a very familiar voice said. Then a shaking one mumbled, "_Lumos!_" and the wandlight revealed a most unlikely pair: Albus Dumbledore and Neville Longbottom.

"Professor!" Ron and Hermione said at the same time.

Dumbledore nodded, but he did not smile. "Where are they?" he asked, glancing at Neville, who looked more terrified than ever.

"Six of them are downstairs, unconscious," Ron said.

"But there are more chasing after Harry."

"And we don't know where they've gone."

There came a roar from downstairs, and Ron could faintly hear voices shouting out spells. "Have you two seen Remus, Nymphadora, or Kingsley?" Dumbledore said, taking out his wand and walking to the door.

"They're coming?" Hermione said hopefully.

"We haven't seen them, Professor," Ron supplied.

"Neville," Dumbledore said, turning back to look at the frightened boy. "Show Hermione's parents how to get back to the castle and go back with them."

"But—"

"You need to do this, Neville, because I have to stay here. They can't." Dumbledore looked at Neville straight in the eyes for a few seconds, and Ron saw the boy stand up straighter, grip his lit wand, and nod solemnly.

Dumbledore turned back to Ron and Hermione. "Now, y—"

Then Harry burst in the door, wide eyed, his right arm slightly bloody, his face pale. Hermione immediately threw herself at him and broke down. "Harry, we were so worried and we didn't know where you'd gone…"

Ron felt weak-kneed; it meant the world to him to know that Harry was fine. Maybe they could get out of this with no harm done after all. He gave Harry a shaky smile over Hermione's head. Ron saw a tear roll down Harry's face as he nodded and smiled back.

"Harry," Dumbledore said, and Ron noticed that his voice softened. "What happened?"

Harry hastily drew a hand across his wet cheek and replied, "I just…ran, they followed. Then Lupin Apparated in the cellar and we both ran back in through the front door, and that's when Tonks and Kinsley Apparated and now they're downstairs but Lupin wanted me to come up here because he knew Hermione's parents were…" His voice trailed off as he saw them standing behind Dumbledore, looking frightened but definitely in one piece.

"How many Death Eaters were chasing after you?" Dumbledore asked, his eyes straying past Harry to the dark corridor beyond.

"I don't know…five, six, maybe more."

Without another word, Dumbledore passed between Ron and Harry and marched down the corridor. Ron looked out to see him stop at the stairs, and then he heard Lupin's voice say, "Albus, we've got them all. I suggest we get out of here before they come to."

Dumbledore nodded, but went down the stairs anyway. Harry, Ron, and Hermione followed, with Neville close behind.

"But Professor," Hermione said tentatively, "I still don't understand how found out they were here." A soft noise came from behind her, which Ron thought might have come from Neville. He didn't say anything, though.

"Miss Granger, I don't think any of us can quite understand it," Dumbledore murmured, looking around as they approached the living room. Ron noticed he looked weary and was reminded of the Headmaster's old age.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, her voice very small.

Dumbledore sighed. "We'll discuss it when we return to the castle." With that, he swept his wand over the six motionless bodies of the Death Eaters and said, "_Mobilicorpi!_" All six Death Eaters rose and hung in the air eerily.

"Should I take these, Albus?" Kingsley's deep voice said from somewhere in the foyer. Ron supposed the Death Eaters he, Tonks, and Lupin had fought were still lying there, knocked out.

"If you would be so kind, please," Dumbledore said, moving his floating Death Eaters towards the foyer. "We'll leave them all outside—it's all we can do." Ron saw the grimace he was already wearing on his face deepen.

"Wait," Harry said. "What about the Ministry? Won't they be showing up here anyway? That was a lot of magic that we used, Professor, they're bound to—"

"Harry," Dumbledore said firmly. "Kingsley took care of it before he came here. He and Tonks made sure that the Ministry would not be alerted of the magic the three of you were using. Please do not ask how, because we really don't need to complicate things even further." This was followed by a stunned silence; clearly, Dumbledore was still apprehensive about the night's events.

When no one asked anything else, Dumbledore led the floating Death Eaters out to the foyer and presumably the front yard with Kingsley. Harry was standing quietly by the staircase, gazing at where the bodies of the Death Eaters had lain. Hermione was watching her parents, who were listening to whatever Neville was telling them but shooting glances at the group gathered at the bottom of the stairs. Ron slipped his hand into hers. "Don't worry," he murmured. "We're all right now."

She nodded but did not reply. Instead, she continued watching her parents, and Ron could only imagine what had gone through her mind knowing that Death Eaters were in her house and her parents were in danger.

At that moment, Dumbledore and Kingsley walked back into the house, Dumbledore tucking his wand into his robes. "Mr. and Mrs. Granger, would you please join us down here?" he said kindly to Hermione's parents. "You as well, Neville." The Grangers exchanged glances with each other and then looked at Neville, who nodded encouragingly despite the fact that he himself still looked terrified.

As the Grangers and Neville made their way down the stairs, Dumbledore began to speak. "There are many things that we must discuss about what happened tonight," he said, watching Neville with slightly furrowed eyebrows. "However, that shall not be done here. The Death Eaters are being kept at bay by their shadows but we will not risk the chance of another attack. As such…" He closed his eyes and put his fingertips together. After a few moments of silence, there was a burst of flame to his left, and Fawkes the phoenix suddenly appeared sitting on the Headmaster's shoulder.

Dumbledore stroked Fawkes' feathers and said, "We shall return to the castle. Harry, you will make the first trip, with Remus, Nymphadora, Kingsley, and Neville. I shall return with Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, and her parents."

Harry looked from Hermione to her parents and nodded. "But…how are we returning?"

"With Fawkes," came Neville's small voice.

"What?"

"Harry, Neville will show you how to get back. Now, we must be hasty," Dumbledore said, nodding to Neville, who walked off to the side with Lupin, Tonks, and Kingsley.

Before joining them, Harry turned to Hermione. He took a deep breath and said, his voice shaking, "I'm sorry." With that, he walked over and stood next to Neville.

"Fawkes," Neville called, and the bird flew over to him. Neville let him sit on his right arm and then said, "All right. Now, all you need to do is, er, just kind of…take one of his tail feathers. He won't mind, I don't think, he didn't mind before and…"

Dumbledore cleared his throat and gave Neville a small smile.

"So…take one," Neville said, brandishing out his arm. Fawkes looked around and squawked softly as each person plucked a feather out of his tail. Harry inspected the feather in his hand curiously, thinking that one like this resided in both his and Voldemort's wands. Then Neville said, "Just hold on to it, don't let go no matter what goes on around you." He glanced at Dumbledore, took a deep breath, and then said, "Let's go, Fawkes."

There was an explosion of flame that made everyone take a step back. When the glare of light had subsided, they looked out to see empty space where their companions had stood only moments before.

"Wicked," Ron murmured, and looked at Dumbledore. "Now do we wait for Fawkes or…?" Before he could finish asking, Dumbledore's shoulder seemed to catch fire as Fawkes returned. "I see," Ron finished.

Dumbledore was making tutting sounds. "Well, we're certainly using up his tail feathers. This time, we'll have one per two people. So, here you go—" He plucked a feather from Fawkes' tail and handed it to Mr. Granger, "—and one for you." He gave Hermione a feather with a smile.

Ron held Hermione's hand tighter as she brought the feather between them. She glanced at her parents, who smiled faintly and then huddled around their small feather.

"Don't you need one, Professor?" Ron asked. Dumbledore merely smiled and stroked Fawkes' head.

"Whatever happens, hold on to your feather."

Ron looked at Hermione, who had shuffled closer to him. He met her eyes for a moment and felt something stir deep within him. There was a knowledge in his heart that tonight could have been fatal, that two words out of Lucius Malfoy's mouth could have killed her. He didn't know what he could have done had that happened.

"Take us away, Fawkes."

Ron felt heat surround him as flames burst up in a circle around the two of them. He knew this would only take a minute, but nothing could have prepared him for how beautiful it was. There was a crackling sound coming from the flames, which loomed high above their heads.

Hermione murmured, "This is nice."

"Yes," he said, and their eyes met. There was an overwhelming feeling in his chest, like some sort of insect was trapped and seeking the warmth of Fawkes' fire outside, and so this crazy little thing—something that on most other instances could certainly go ignored—rammed again and again against his chest, a foreign beating of a faraway drum that he later realized may or may not have been his heart. It was a strange feeling that he'd never been conscious of before, and so with no means of identifying it, it terrified him and puzzled him to no end.

But the little buzzing bug brought the bizarre sense of belonging as well.

As such, it encouraged him to lightly tap the top of Hermione's hand, tightly held in his. She was still holding fierce eye contact with him. He brought their hands to rest at some random spot on his chest. Suddenly he felt like there was dust in his eyes and something was making him want to cough violently. Instead, though, he choked, "I…you see?" Maybe the buzzing of the bug would make her understand.

And by the way her red-rimmed eyes shone as she nodded before throwing her arms around him, he was pretty sure she did.

A/n: Right, so….review?


	13. Heterogenous Hope

A/n: So, last chapter. Granted, it should've come much sooner, but at least it's here. And HBP still hasn't come out (although it is basically here—no complaints!) so I'm doing all right. This chapter is what I like to call either a long epilogue or a short chapter. In all honesty, I have no means by which to make this chapter long and it is definitely lacking in some points that I'd thought I'd make. But it makes the main point I wanted to bring with it, and I think it does it strongly enough so that the length can be overlooked.

I've had a good time writing this fic, although I see definite room for improvement. I don't mind the way I've written it so much, but the plot has been a bit dodgy here and there. Well, I've got time, I'd say, to practice. And my next fic should be a blast: a Lily/James fic already in the works. Sort of. Anyway, thanks to everyone who put up with my wonky updating and who took the time to read anything I wrote. It's highly motivating, even if it doesn't seem that way, with my lack of updating. Till next time, enjoy.

Disclaimer: Sure, it belongs to JK, but if she were to be compared to a baker, we would be her minion bakers and even though she _does _make pretty scrumpdiddlyumptious bread, we're learning to do so ourselves, while still enjoying her way with bread.

NSH Chapter 13: Heterogeneous Hope 

A great fire had erupted in Professor Dumbledore's office.

It was quite uncommon for such a thing to occur within the old wizard's office. Dumbledore was a man who lived by the light of his wand, or possibly the moon, if he was in the right mood. As far as warmth went, well…it wasn't a primary concern of the headmaster's.

But on this particular New Year's Eve, scalding flames appeared in the middle of the room, directly in front of Dumbledore's desk and just to the left of Fawkes's stand. They were blinding. Although they were quite obviously Fawkes's flames (and all the past headmasters and headmistresses could recognize them by now), they were reaching such elevations that the figures in the multitude of portraits could not help but shriek and shirk away, yanking their hats over their eyes. Yet the conflagration burned ever brighter, emanating a heat unlike any other from a fire within the castle, until it dissipated just as quickly as it had begun.

The congregation that had suddenly appeared inside the office was an interesting one, even comical, one might say, if only the circumstances were different. But, as is the way of things, the circumstances were what they were, and the not a single person in the group could begin to understand them.

Tonks, her face pale as milk, was gripping Kingsley's right arm very firmly. Kingsley was staring fixedly at his left hand, in which he held his wand. Lupin was standing behind Kingsley with Harry, his hand on the boy's shoulder. Harry's face was quite blank, and there were visible drops of sweat lining his temples.

Neville stood in front of the group, holding his phoenix feather aloft like some sort of beacon. His hand, shaking madly, brought only more attention to the solitary feather, thrust into the air while its companions remained clutched in the hands of Neville's group. Neville, breathing unevenly, turned his head to look at the people behind him. One look was all it took for him to see that nobody else was holding their feather like he was. He promptly brought his arm down by his side and cleared his throat.

"I think we're supposed to—"

His mumbles were cut short, however, by another burst of flame, which exploded from a spot on the ground to the right of where they were standing. Neville and Tonks shrieked, and they all took several steps back, shielding their faces from the heat. A bird squawked, and the fire was extinguished. In its place stood five people.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger were holding each other's hands, their wide eyes darting about, drinking in their surroundings. Dumbledore stood beside them. His hands were behind his back, and he was bouncing on the balls of his feet in severe contrast to the solemn look on his face.

Ron and Hermione were huddled close together just behind the headmaster, their arms around each other. Neville felt a chill roll down his spine when it occurred to him that Hermione might be crying. After such a night, it could only be expected, but he hoped not. He never knew what to say to people who were crying, and even if he didn't have to say anything to them, he always had trouble finding a suitable expression to wear on his face. He couldn't even get a hint from Ron's, as his face, too, was hidden, buried into Hermione's hair.

Neville's eyes strayed to Ron's arms, clasped tightly around Hermione's back, jerking here and there with the indication of touch. The pinkie of his left hand was moving just the slightest bit, a light pat on her back, not forceful enough to be pitiful but noticeable enough to know he did it intentionally. Neville found himself watching their embrace in the deafening silence and wondering why he had never been hugged that way by anyone. He wondered why he'd never wondered this before.

"This," Dumbledore's voice said, a boom that ripped through the silence so suddenly, it was all Neville could do not to yelp. "This is what we strive for, and what many can only imitate."

The silence seemed even more profound after he'd spoken, buzzing furiously at the absence of words now that it knew they could be uttered. Nobody seemed to be moving, or even reacting to the words. Neville felt a drop of sweat drip down the center of his palm. He blinked and thought of asking if Dumbledore was referring to the hug, when Harry spoke.

"What? That mode of travel?"

Dumbledore smiled faintly. "No, Mr. Potter. Not at all."

Harry blinked at him, and he looked almost angry. His brow was furrowing ever so distinctly. Everyone could see it, and they were holding their breaths.

Dumbledore began to move towards Ron and Hermione, who were still embracing, unfazed by Dumbledore's words. His shoes clicked against the smooth floor, and it echoed in the office, suddenly much larger than it had been when Neville had arrived in it earlier to report his dream of a Death Eater attack. There seemed to be no ceiling to this office, just paintings and walls that disappeared into darkness. There, too, the echoes of Dumbledore's shoes went.

The old wizard stopped in front of the couple. Ron finally raised his head, slowly, like it required endless amounts of energy. Neville was actually startled by his expression; it was one of calm, not a wrinkle in the brow or a hint of consternation. Hermione turned her head to look at the headmaster without lifting it from its place on Ron's chest. Her cheeks were free of tears, which gave Neville a pang of relief, and she, too, looked almost eerily nonchalant.

"This?"

Ron's voice sounded like a croak, most unbefitting to one with an expression like his. Neville had just enough time to gather that Ron was referring, indeed, to the embrace before Dumbledore said, "Yes, Mr. Weasley. It's just that."

Those words, it seemed, released the binds they'd all been unaware of having. Steady breaths could now be heard from around the semicircle of people, Dumbledore, Ron, and Hermione in the middle. Weight was shifted from one foot to another, and Mrs. Granger sniffled. Neville looked at Harry. He was standing completely still, his back so straight it was almost arched, and he was looking intently at Ron and Hermione. There may have been tears in his eyes, but Neville was pretty sure it was the glint of one of Dumbledore's trinkets shining off his glasses.

Ron and Hermione had parted; they were now standing next to each other, albeit quite close, and Neville had an inkling they were holding hands. They still looked blank and calm. He wanted to ask them why, but he didn't want to interrupt anything Dumbledore might venture to say.

Dumbledore put a hand on Ron's shoulders. "I'm afraid, Mr. Weasley, that our companions have quite lost us. I'm not entirely sure they understand." Then he made a sweeping motion to the wide-eyed group.

Ron's expression finally changed. His mouth opened and he looked questioningly at Dumbledore. "Oh. Er…?"

Dumbledore smiled, but Neville noticed that it only made him look tired; the bags under his eyes suddenly seemed particularly dark, and it occurred to Neville that maybe Dumbledore shouldn't smile so much. Not now, at least.

"What I meant to say is that I think it would be appropriate if you could explain to them."

There was silence again. Someone—possibly Tonks—cleared their throat. Neville turned the phoenix feather over in his fingers, waiting to see how Ron would respond. So far, for what seemed like hours, he had only blinked and stared at the ground.

Finally, Ron brought his left hand, which was holding Hermione's right, forward from behind his back. Then he held it up between the two of them, the fingers interlaced and linked firmly.

Dumbledore nodded and brought his hands together. He laced his fingers, almost in an imitation of Ron and Hermione's. Then he said, "_This_ is what we need, and why we fight. There have always been barriers between people, whether intensified by situations or general environment, or fueled by purely feelings. Human beings—and I know this to be a Muggle characteristic as well, not just appearing in wizards—have the tendency to create walls to separate each other, sometimes willingly and sometimes unintentionally. And sadly, cases where the walls cannot be torn down are much too common."

Neville felt his heart skip a beat. Barriers he had no control over, no matter how hard he wished or tried…he knew all about those. He noticed Tonks ran a hand through her hair, a weary and distant look on her face, and he wondered what could be going through her mind, and how peculiar it was that he'd never known any barriers but his own.

Dumbledore was gazing at him almost sadly, and Harry, he observed, was too. For once in recent times, he did not feel the need to vindicate himself.

"In fact," Dumbledore continued, after what had seemed like hours, "it is one of these barriers—a particularly massive one—that has brought us here, and has caused terrible misconceptions about our world. Voldemort—" Neville noticed that no one flinched "—has built his regime around it, for he has created it himself, and his refusal to bring it down is the very essence of this war."

"What do you mean?" Harry interjected. "He's out to kill me, and he doesn't care what damage he causes along the way. That's his motive."

"That is his ultimate goal, Harry, not his motive. I do not claim to know the true motive of his actions, but I do believe I can detect his drive—what compels him to achieve his goal."

"Hatred?" asked a quivering voice from the back of the room, and Neville turned to see that Hermione's mother had spoken. Her hands were tightly clasped in her husband's, and she looked about ready to collapse.

"I'm afraid not, Mrs. Granger," Dumbledore said, kindly but firmly.

"You _lament _that his drive isn't hatred?" Harry asked incredulously.

"You must understand that he has no room for hatred. He has made no room for love, and thus has lost room for true hatred. I believe he does not hate you, Harry. This, of course, does not mean he feels in any way amiable to you. It only means he views you in the same shade of gray in which he sees everyone, but with much more fervor. You are his final enemy—he knows this, and so he faces you with all the potency he has, with intention to sublimate himself for his drive."

"Fine," Harry said tonelessly. "So if hatred isn't his drive, what is?"

Dumbledore breathed deeply through his nose. Neville shivered; he got the feeling Dumbledore seemed angry at Harry, something Neville had never thought possible.

"What I believe it is," Dumbledore said slowly, "is the separation in his mind between Muggleborns—or Muggles—and purebloods." And with that said, he swept his hand towards Ron's and Hermione's intertwined ones.

"His barrier," Ron croaked.

"His barrier," Dumbledore said, nodding.

"What—I mean to say, why—does he feel that way?" asked Mr. Granger timidly.

Dumbledore sighed and nodded to himself. "It's difficult to pinpoint exactly where this intolerance for anything but pure blood came from, because even before he truly became Voldemort, Tom Riddle was a reserved boy, sequestered and seemingly shy. But from what I know of him, I believe it comes from resentment towards his Muggle father."

"He killed him," Harry said suddenly. "His own father and grandparents."

"That he did," said Dumbledore softly. "Tom murdered his family because they were Muggles. I think he has believed, all this time, that his blood has been stained by the presence of Muggles. I sense he saw them as the reason he wasn't pureblood. Because of them, he felt ashamed to be a half-blood heir of the great Salazar Slytherin, a man who, though undoubtedly great, had no tolerance for mixed blood."

"V-Voldemort's descended from Slytherin?" Neville asked, eyes wide.

"Oh yes, and it is something he takes great pride in. But the fact that he is a half-blood, by no means a pureblood himself, depreciates that pride, and he blames his father for this, for tainting blood that came from Slytherin himself."

"And now he wants to purge our world to leave only the purebloods," Ron said darkly.

"And while he's at it, he wants to kill me," muttered Harry. There was a short moment of ringing silence at his words, and Neville saw Hermione turn away, staring sharply at the ground.

Lupin, his upper lip very obviously sporting drops of sweat, replied, "But we won't let that happen."

"There is much to fear in this world," Dumbledore said, almost as if he hadn't heard what Harry and Lupin had said. "But in my opinion, we should not let that fear deter us in any shape or form. We are all aware of the danger we're in, and the danger all persons of mixed blood are in. But we must not let fear of the outcome of Voldemort's resolve keep us from believing in what we have been believing: we must always hold strong the bonds between each other. We cannot allow ourselves to become intolerant of others because of something as trivial as the blood that runs in their veins, something no man has never and will never be able to control."

From across the room, Neville saw Tonks hold a hand to her eyes as Kingsley placed his hand firmly on her shoulder. Ron and Hermione were looking down at their hands with a sort of wonder.

"Blood is not a measure of our worth. It is merely a product of our past, and our past does not define who we are," Dumbledore continued resolutely. "What we do with the present and our values in the present does, and we must learn that, like we coexist in the world—Wizarding or Muggle—, so we must learn to work together and achieve some semblance of acceptance."

"So it counts when we show we _do _accept each other," Ron said tentatively.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said, nodding and smiling with a twinkle in his eye. "You've done so without needing to be asked, and that, above all, is what we want to achieve, and what separates us from Lord Voldemort."

"Professor," Harry said, "If you are suggesting we try to convince Voldemort—well, I mean—I just don't think—"

"Harry, there is no doubt that his mind is made up and his views of our world will not change merely because we try to persuade him for the better," Dumbledore said. "Nevertheless, we _will _fight this war with the intent of preserving our ideals about each other, so that in the future, we can hope our posterity will not follow in the unfortunate steps of Tom Riddle."

"So we're going to die for an uncertain possibility of a better future?" Harry said skeptically. "Well, it's not like I have any choice…"

"HARRY!"

Hermione's voice, all the while absent in the room, now sounded strange and almost ethereal to Neville. She had stepped forward, still holding onto Ron's hand, and was glaring sharply at Harry. Her voice shook very slightly when she spoke.

"Don't say that," she said, shaking her head slowly. "_Don't_ say that."

"Hermione, please. We might as well stop lying to ourselves while we're ahead," Harry replied, but Neville noticed his eyes were remarkably red.

"Well, maybe that's what _you_ make of this, but I assure you the rest of us don't," Hermione murmured, "and I'm glad to tell you that your stubbornness will _not_ change that." She stepped back to where she'd been standing, half in shadow, and said, so softly it was nearly inaudible, "You will _not _die, Harry Potter."

Neville's eyes trailed to Harry, who had lowered his head with a grimace, but soon they darted back to Dumbledore, who was speaking again.

"Uncertainty cannot be avoided. Never will you find a time in your life when you are completely certain about the future; I can assure you that not even the most gifted of Seers can say they have ever felt that way. But when something is so important, so vital to your world and your very being, you must step into uncertainty with all the certainty you can muster. That is what we're doing here." Dumbledore turned his head to look at Neville, and at the same time, he took his hat in his hands and lowered it from his head. "Already we have lost some, in more ways than one, and it has hurt us deeply—that we cannot deny." His gaze returned to its trajectory around the semicircle, which Neville was glad of, as it had been much too intense to hold for very long. "And we know, as much as we can hope against it, that we will lose others. But it is what life deals our way, and no protesting can change it."

Dumbledore lifted his hands and pointed them at the youngest members of the group: Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville. He took a mighty breath and said, "Your destinies, although linked, are by no means the same. However, your friendships and principles—which, inevitably, you have gained from each other—are your connecting assets, so that no matter what happens, you will never be alone. They are what will give you strengths in the times to come, when you step into the world and decide what you want your purpose to be."

Harry finally looked up, face indistinctly tear-stained, to look at Ron and Hermione. Ron's chin was trembling like Neville had never seen it do before, and Hermione had silent tears running down her face. Neville felt cold sweat on his palm, drenching the phoenix feather he held there. However, quite peculiarly, the constant anxiety that was always pressing down on him lessened. He felt almost like it had facilitated his breathing, being addressed in such a way by Dumbledore. He knew that, had this been a few months before, he would never have believed he'd prove to be of any significance, of any meaning to anyone or anything in the world. But things were much different now; he had a destiny, and he knew now more than ever that he could not let it slip away.

"Times like none any of us have ever seen before are fast approaching. There is no space for hesitation or doubt. Hold on to what you know and, as always, what you love. We _will _make it through."

So was the final preparation that four very special (albeit very different) members of the sixth year Gryffindor house received before embarking on an adventure to surpass all that they'd experienced before. Unavoidably fearful but irrevocably determined, they stood together at a window near Gryffindor tower on that very night, looking at nothing in particular and integrating themselves into the passage of time.

A/n: It's been an honor. Thank you.


End file.
